<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Forgotten Tales by do_androids_dream</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110761">The Forgotten Tales</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/pseuds/do_androids_dream'>do_androids_dream</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Adventure, Affection, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bickering, Crime story - Freeform, Cuddling, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fanart, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Humor, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Love Stories, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Murder Mystery, Mystery, One Shot, One-Shot Collection, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Short One Shot, The Witcher Rarepair, Whump, possibly some adventures, will update as soon as I know</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:53:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/pseuds/do_androids_dream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots and short stories set in my own witcher-verse and head canons. Prepare for snacks - if you want a full meal, follow the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724449">main series.</a> :)</p><p>Expect the usual: some whump, some adventures, probably some smut and whatever. Open for prompts/ideas/talks.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. For we know the joy of life, the peace that love can bring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For we know the joy of life, the peace that love can bring (below) - Emhyr needs to vent.<br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110761/chapters/71707326#workskin">And the scars don't write a song for me at all</a> - Bath, whump, sword fight.<br/><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110761/chapters/72160848#workskin">Take hold of the flame</a> - The Emperor of Nilfgaard can make pancakes.<br/><a href="#section0004">A seeker enthralled by a flame</a> - Has Geralt lost his wedding ring in a game of Gwent?<br/><a href="#section0005">Oh my beautiful disaster</a> A special, poisoned gift.<br/><a href="#section0006">Into the abyss I will run</a> Very short Emhyr whump.<br/><a href="#section0007">I'll never wear your broken crown</a> Murder mystery in a mysterious mischief place.<br/><a href="#section0008">Beautiful anger, breaking the pattern</a> Fan mail for Geralt?!<br/><a href="#section0009">Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragon's fire</a> An exhausted Emhyr needs some help to calm down<br/><a href="#section0010">'Cos you know that we've got the power of healin' love</a> What if love has actually healing powers – or at least Geralt believes it does?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"There are guards outside the door," Geralt panted, his lips still slightly wet from the violent kiss.</p><p>"There are always guards outside the door."</p><p>Emhyr's dark voice was very near to his ear, his hot breath stroking Geralt's neck. </p><p>"That's their purpose. To protect," he added, while his hands, used to press his husband to the door immediately after entering, slowly moved lower from Geralt's shoulders, "… and to prevent sudden attacks."</p><p>These words were followed by a daring grip on Geralt's crotch. Satisfied that he had elicited a small sigh from his lips, but still full of impatience, Emhyr pushed aside the shirt of his beloved and pressed his mouth on the particular spot above Geralt's collarbone. This had the desired effect: a new tone, this time sounding from the depth of Geralt's throat. One night, Emhyr had dared to call that a purr, whereupon Geralt had claimed that wolves rather growled. Except that he rarely <i>growled</i> when Emhyr did this: letting his hands wander over Geralt's thighs, tracing the muscles, very slowly stroking upward, the bulge in his pants clearly showing. </p><p>This witcher was easy to crack. Not in battle, by no means. Not even in their usual, stubborn discussions (<i>banter and bickering</i>, as Ciri called it). He did not fall for flattery, was fundamentally suspicious and a fierce enemy to everyone who dared to betray or even fight him. There were undoubtedly many qualities about Geralt that were admirable, even endearing. But what Emhyr loved about him, maybe more than anything else, was a peculiar weakness, which he revealed to no one but Emhyr himself. </p><p>He was weak for Emhyr's eyes, changing color in their most intimate moments. He was weak for his touch, to feel Emhyr's fingertips, an ever so soft sensation upon his scars. And he couldn't get enough of his kisses, of those daring lips pressed upon his own; so soft when Geralt was still half-asleep in the morning, his eyes a pale glow from under this tangled mess of hair. At other times, those lips were arrogant, inviting and challenging at the same time.</p><p>It was a weakness exclusively reserved for Emhyr alone, and at the same time, it triggered his own vulnerability: loving this man, entirely, was the only one he allowed himself. And he was fond to show this love - knowing well that, even since they were married, according to his status, customs, and court protocol, he could only do so when they were truly alone. </p><p>The long days, filled with duties, seemed more and more grueling to him. They offered no real distraction when Geralt was out hunting monsters or looking after his small vineyard. Even if they were both in the same place at the same time, the palace was a madhouse of activity, and there were days when they saw each other from dawn to sunset only for meals. On those days, they feasted on the glances they gave each other across the table and the furtive thigh-pressure beneath. </p><p>On days like these, impatience and desire built up in Emhyr, and it was enough for him to cast a single glance at his counterpart to know that he felt the same way. Then, when they were alone, his approach was rough like his lips, which had twisted disapprovingly one time after another over many hours. Then his need for a catalyst was so great that his tremendously soft hands hardened, their grip tight. Then, like now, he elicited sounds from Geralt that only spurred him on. </p><p>"You're firing up the rumor mill," Geralt groaned, pressed against the wall. </p><p>Still, he made no effort to set himself free. A single grip would have sufficed. As powerful as he may be, an Emperor was no challenge for a witcher – not in physical strength. But the authority that the latter had over almost the entire continent and its inhabitants during the day was centered on one man alone at night. And this man liked it.  </p><p>"The rumor mill," answered referred Emperor, nibbling at his husband's earlobe, sending a shiver down the latter's body, "can hear you every night."<br/>
<br/>
"That's filthy and not even true."</p><p>"It's not?"</p><p>In the blink of an eye, Emhyr grabbed Geralt's right hand and pulled him away from the door, pressing him tightly against his body for a second, only to spin him around and push him forward. In a well-established game of pull and being pulled, they traversed the darkness of the anteroom in somnambulistic confidence.</p><p>The candles in the bedroom lit up due to an almost carelessly shaped sign, as Geralt's hands were busy holding onto his husband's hips. Emhyr, in turn, kept his mouth busy with caressing Geralt's tongue.</p><p>Then he suddenly withdrew, only to look closely at Geralt in the dim light of the candles. His eyes seemed to glow just as much as those of his counterpart, looking at him somewhat astonished. <br/>
<br/>
"What is it?"<br/>
<br/>
One of his rare smiles showed on Emhyr's face, even if the corners of his mouth lifted only slightly: it was evident in his eyes.  </p><p>"I haven't seen you all day."</p><p>"And you've forgotten what I look like?"</p><p>"You truly are extremely romantic," Emhyr remarked dryly. </p><p>"No, I'm extremely <i>hard</i>."</p><p>"Dirty. And impatient. What am I going to do with you, my dear? Tell me that?"</p><p>With a casual gesture - and a bit of assistance, because the witcher didn't lose his balance that quickly - Emhyr pushed Geralt onto the bed. The immaculate sheets lost their smoothness, not for the last time that night. </p><p>"I have some ideas… "</p><p>"Who says I want to hear them?" muttered Emhyr as he slowly settled down beside his spouse. </p><p>He lay down, one hand almost possessively on the other's hip, and again some time passed in which he just looked at him. Oh yes, he was impatient, but he was a master at hiding it. Of these moments, it was necessary to savor each one. Geralt smiled because he knew that all too well. </p><p>"You can stare at me all night if you want, but will you allow me to undress?"</p><p>"No. I will order you to."</p><p>Geralt seemed to interpret this as the first sign of command, for he began to strip off the shirt that Emhyr had already rumpled anyway. Finest nilfgaardian fabric landed carelessly on the floor. A raised eyebrow was enough, and boots and trousers followed. The price for each piece was a kiss, long and persistent. Somewhere along the way, Emhyr's clothes were also left behind.</p><p>Skin on skin, their bodies lit only by candlelight and covetous gazes, they began to explore each other. Somehow, it was always as if it was the first time. As if they did not already know every blemish, every scar, every fold of skin from each other. As if they didn't know where the other had his sensitive spots, where his eyes lit up due to the touch, or when a movement meant wanting more. It was precisely this familiarity that challenged them to be bold, to seek those spots where the threshold between pleasure and pain was so thin. Emhyr always seemed to find them, always eager to make his wolf howl.</p><p>Sweat glistened on their skin as the ancient dance resumed. What a peculiar dance this was: no rehearsed sequence of steps, but still precise movements. Another game of pushing and being pushed, more serious this time. Entangled and entwined, no beginning and no end, they were as close as their bodies could be - for their minds were anyway. </p><p>Finally, release came, and it was just that: a relaxation, nothing more, nothing less. No waves crashing on a shore, no fireworks. They were used to each other in the best way there could be, silent fulfillment, wordless satisfaction. They held each other's twitching bodies tight, amber eyes locked onto each other, until Emhyr let his head rest inside of Geralt’s mess of hair.</p><p>One heartbeat recovered faster than the other, as it was accustomed to keeping this body's agitation low. So, in the end, it was mainly Geralt holding Emhyr, enjoying his weight upon him, that did not burden him. He listened to Emhyr's heartbeat and breathing as they both calmed down, breathing into the crook of his neck, inhaling a familiar scent of juniper and lust. The latter slowly subsided, and the chill in the room became noticeable. Geralt felt goosebumps under his fingers, which were still resting on his husband's back.  </p><p>"You're getting cold," he whispered, stroking the skin under his hands. </p><p>Emhyr didn't answer. Still, it took Geralt a moment to recognize the steady breathing. </p><p>"Seriously?" he muttered, carefully turning his head to watch Emhyr. </p><p>His eyes were closed. The slight smile on his mouth was the last reminiscent of his contentment. The arduousness of the long day had finally taken its toll, and he had fallen asleep. It was as adorable as it was unflattering for Geralt, but he didn't resent him. He just very carefully pushed Emhyr off him, searched for the blanket in the rumpled bed, found it, and spread it over him. </p><p>Then he slipped under the covers himself, stealing his hand into Emhyr's – who flinched briefly, but didn't wake up. For a while, he just watched him, his face so relaxed only in sleep. All the candles in the room expired with a casual wave of his hand, and Geralt surrendered to the darkness around him.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. And the scars don't write a song for me at all</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompting me on <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/frances_the_red/pseuds/frances_the_red">Tumblr</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/frances_the_red/pseuds/frances_the_red">@frances-the-red</a> requested "a sexy bath scene, whump and a sword fight". </p><p>So, have basically this: A bath scene (recycled from an abandoned fic and freed from the smut), Geralt whump (thanks for that) and a sword fight.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>     Geralt awoke to find the bed was empty next to him. The room was dark, curtains still drawn. It was not unusual for Emhyr to rise with the sun's first rays, the early birdsong being his wake-up call. It was certainly very early; still, Geralt sensed it was not dawn yet. He got up, wrapping the blanket around his body. He'd made it a habit of sleeping naked in the palace – where not only the fireplace but also his husband regularly warmed him.  Yet it was still winter, and the mornings were chilly. A quick tug on the curtains confirmed that there was time yet before dawn. The blackness of the night only slowly faded into a softer gray, illuminated at this hour only by a few lights from the city below. </p><p>Slowly he crossed the room, the coolness of the stone floor a sharp contrast to his body, still warm from sleep. The adjoining chamber door was open, and there he found Emhyr's silk robe hanging over a paravent. Behind it, unusually for the early hour, a bathtub was steaming with hot water. Emhyr's eyes were closed, but he seemed anything but relaxed: his arms were leaning on the edges of the tub, the fingers of his right hand playing an impatient little concert on the wood. </p><p>"You overdo it with cleanliness," Geralt remarked. </p><p>Emhyr opened his eyes, and Geralt was greeted by an amber glow so similar to his own. There were moments when Emyhr's eyes took on the color of ripe hazelnuts, but not now, not at this hour.</p><p>"I didn't want to wake you," he returned. "It helps me think."</p><p>"Contemplating before the sun rises? What's bothering you so much?"</p><p>"Come here," Emhyr said instead of an answer, and his hand underlined his words with a restless gesture.</p><p>That was a demand quickly obeyed. Geralt soon found himself pulled down, a firm hand on his neck and persuading lips on his own. After this passionate morning greeting, Geralt's voice sounded a bit rough.</p><p>"I'm not going to complain, but..."</p><p>"You know what I'm thinking about."</p><p>Geralt actually knew. The latest intelligence reports had led Emhyr to tighten security around Vizima. They seemed to be mere rumors for the time being, but their prolonged absence for the wedding in Nilfgaard seemed to make some local factions believe the emperor had developed a weakness. Not merely a weakness for a certain witcher, but perhaps a waning interest in strategy and political calculation, at least in the short term. In this, they were wrong, and Emhyr by no means took the flashing little skirmishes here and there lightly. </p><p>"Join me," Emhyr said, holding out his hand. "Make sure I don't think about it, if that's what you want."</p><p>The invitation sounded almost like an order, not to the witcher, but the husband. If it was, it was easy to follow, and Geralt stripped off the blanket. He bent over Emhyr in search of another kiss, and the firm grip on his neck resumed. Lips as hot as the rising steam met his, and for a while, the world shut down.</p><p>The steam seemed to cloud Geralt's senses – their lips parted, but Emhyr's face appeared to him as if he would look through a fog. He still felt his hand on his neck, and the grip seemed to get stronger. Then, he did not understand how it  happened, the pressure became even harder, pushing his head under water. It was much less warm than expected, and the sudden immersion was a shock. Only reflexes and an immediate instinct prevented him from swallowing water. It was impenetrable to his eyes, far too dark, far too unreal. Some part of him refused to comprehend what was happening. His arm shot up, his hand searching for a hold but finding none. </p><p><i>It's a dream,</i> he thought, <i>a dream, a nightmare, and I will wake up soon.</i></p><p>But if this was a dream, why did he feel the air escaping from his lungs? Suddenly, the water dissolved into murky darkness. Now, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Was he floating or lying on the ground? Part of this felt like a memory that was slightly off. 
Slowly the darkness gave way to an unreal gray, and Geralt realized that his eyes were still (or again?) open. Sounds kicked in as if all of his senses suddenly remembered how to work. There were unfamiliar voices, smells, and feelings. No, not all of this was unfamiliar. There was something his mind needed a moment to recognize... a sensation, sharp and hot and <i>throbbing</i>. </p><p> </p><p>     Pain. A feeling he knew – and an excellent instrument to come back to reality. Then, light. Now his eyes were able to focus: there was a wooden ceiling above him, small golden reflections of sunlight dancing on it. A house, a hut, maybe.<br/>
He focused on the pain. The cause was not hard to find: an arrow sticking out of his right thigh. Moreover, his gaze fell on shackles on his wrists. Handcuffs, not a simple rope. Someone wanted to make absolutely sure that he would not free himself so quickly. In two ways, because his quick inventory told him something else: the arrowhead had been soaked in poison, and that was still inside him. Poisoning a witcher wasn't easy, but apparently, whoever had done it knew what to do. </p><p>His accelerated heartbeat and temporarily decreased breathing – a feeling that had manifested itself in a dream or hallucination – were clear evidence. The memory had been buried under the poisoning effects, but now he remembered this morning clearly. The actual events had been much more pleasant. They had made love impetuously on the damp floor next to that tub. Later, the breakfast had been interrupted by a messenger, asking for the witcher's urgent help. Should that have made him suspicious? The forests around Vizima were usually spared from any monsters. According to the vague description, it could have been anything from wraiths to a lost troll. He had not become wary, had followed his damned sense of duty, and walked right into a trap. </p><p>That part was still a bit blurry, but a surprising noise, a handful of guys looking like vagabonds, and a sudden arrow in his thigh definitely had something to do with it.
Here he was, once again, a tied-up package somewhere in the wilderness, a victim to his own good-naturedness. <i>Or dumbness,</i> he thought, observing the handcuffs closely.
At that moment, a crooked door opened, letting in more light than was comfortable for Geralt's eyes. </p><p>"Oh well, look at that, our princess is no longer slumbering." </p><p>A sleazy guy entered, a whole head shorter than Geralt, from head to toe the type of obnoxious order-taker that Geralt was pretty sure lacked the intelligence to come up with such a bold plan. He was right. Pushing past the guy was a taller man, beefy and bald, with a rather ugly scar from his right ear to his shoulder. <i>Did someone ever try to chop your head off?</i> thought Geralt incoherently. Dark eyes under bushy eyebrows regarded the witcher with due suspicion. Far more conspicuous, however, was the sword scabbard at the man's hip. For Geralt would have recognized the weapon's handle in it anywhere - it was his own, the silver sword. Of the two they had taken from him, it was by far the more valuable, and Baldy must have decided to keep it.</p><p>"Faster than I thought," he said. </p><p>His companion appeared slightly nervous. </p><p>"We still have a bit of that stuff, shall we..."</p><p>"We don't want to kill him," the other cut him off. "I already thought he'd suffocate; that's too risky on me."</p><p>"If it somehow matters that I survive, it would be quite useful to remove this poisoned arrow," Geralt replied nonchalantly, if a bit hoarsely. </p><p>He noticed a sour taste in his mouth. Somewhere, sometime, he must have vomited up some of the poison, but it had not helped much. Apparently, they had made sure that he did not choke on it, which also indicated that they wanted him alive, at least for the moment. From then on, it was easy to put two and two together. Ridiculous that he had fallen for it, but not the first attempt of this kind. </p><p>"Let that linger as long as possible," Baldy said, deadpan. "If you ever get back to your pretty palace, someone can cut that thing out for you."</p><p>The <i>"if"</i> was striking.</p><p>"You've already calculated that there might be no ransom, but you still came up with the insane idea of kidnapping a witcher," Geralt said calmly. It wasn't even a question. </p><p>"But one that seems to mean quite a bit to our new ruler," the bald one returned. "And look, all it took was a well-aimed arrow and some poison."</p><p>In other words, an element of surprise that didn't come to many. Geralt knew how amazed people like this were when they found out that witchers also ended up bleeding like ordinary people. Maybe not as long and not as persistent, but the bastard was right: an arrow and a bit of poison had been enough. Of course, it wasn't always quite that simple, but chance and luck had played into these guys' hands. </p><p>"Well, we'll see if we can capitalize on our catch, won't we? The swords, the dagger, and what we found in your pockets are probably compensation enough, should that not be the case. And if I don't need you in the end, I'll pull that pretty ring off your finger and have it melted down in Mahakam." </p><p>With these words, Baldy turned back to the door, pushed his accomplice out, and both disappeared. <i>Gotta give him credit for having guts,</i> Geralt thought. A bit of a megalomaniac, perhaps, but what did he have to lose? For scum like him, peacetime had little to offer. So why not stack up a little? Quite possible that they weren't even looking for a ransom now that they had valuable witcher weapons, which would fetch quite a bit in shady auction houses. Perhaps they had also concluded that the matter was too big in the end. They certainly didn't want to risk the army getting on their trail. Even Baldy could not be so shrewd as to believe that he was slipping through the fingers of the emperor's expected wrath. Whatever they were up to, they made a typical mistake: underestimating a witcher was never a good idea. And firing an arrow in his leg and tying his hands was not nearly enough. Neither was Geralt the princess they took him for, nor did he need rescuing. </p><p>Trying to sit up, he felt a bit dizzy. There was still poison inside his system; there would be until the arrow was removed. It was tempting to do it right now, and he could have done it even with cuffed hands. But without any knife, it was a gruesome business, and a painful one. As he could get a closer look now, he noticed the tip stuck quite deep in his thigh. He would do too much damage if he just ripped it out, so he focused on the shackles first. Solid steel with a short chain. No big deal, Geralt had learned such things as a boy. Lambert, Eskel, and he had always tried to outdo each other in their numerous attempts to escape from handcuffs. Vesemir had had to rescue one of them time and again, chained to all sorts of objects. Lambert once almost strangled himself when he was desperate to prove that he could free himself by hanging one-handed from the stair railing in Kaer Morhen. </p><p>Geralt shook his head. Not the right moment for merry <i>(or rather not)</i> reminiscences. If they had tied his arms behind his back, things wouldn't have been quite so simple, but they hadn't bothered. So Geralt only had to patiently twist the chain's individual links into each other until they locked. When that happened, he braced himself against the inevitable pain and pulled his hands apart with all his might. As expected, the metal broke after a few seconds, and his hands were free. He had no way to remove the remains from his wrists, and Geralt could already vividly imagine Emhyr's comments on this. This only spurred him on, so he looked for a hold on the wall behind him to carefully prop himself up. </p><p>Finally, he stood, painful as it was, but now he was able to assess the little window. He peered out cautiously from the side. Outside, he saw a handful of horses, their reins thrown loosely over the rickety remains of a fence. Roach was not among them. <i>Smart girl,</i> he thought. <i>Didn't let yourself get caught.</i> The guys outside had no idea that the soldiers were probably already closer to them than they thought – Roach knew her way back, as any horse in danger would seek refuge in its home stable.<br/>
Slowly, Geralt limped to the door and listened, letting his senses wander. Most likely, one of them was standing right next to the door. One last time, he glanced at the arrow in his leg. The wound was bleeding again, but there was nothing he could do about it now. All he could do was take advantage of the element of surprise, as they had done with him. Oh, they would be in for a surprise.</p><p>With a jerk, he wrenched open the door, gaining a split-second overview. There were only five. Four sleazebags with Baldy as their leader. To the right of the door stood the little guy who had come in first – apparently Baldy's right-hand man. He was carelessly playing around with a sword, weighing it in his hands, observing it. It was part of the loot, Geralt's steel sword. In an instant, it was back in his possession: he rammed his elbow into the guy's face, whereupon the jaw cracked. Completely surprised, the man was not even capable of a scream, and in one fluid motion, Geralt grabbed the sword before it went to the ground like the bandit. </p><p>A little commotion broke out among the remaining members of the small band of robbers, and already the bravest among them pounced on Geralt. He attacked with a dagger. Geralt felt a series of small nerve jolts, a tingling sensation that rose up inside him, hardening his muscles. It was anger, he realized. For this was <i>his</i> dagger, not just any weapon; a particularly beautiful piece, pure silver, decorated with a wolf's head on the handle. It was a gift from Emhyr, and the thought that this was the second time somebody tried to steal it from him only fueled his rage. To take this away from him, like they wanted to do with the ring, his <i>fucking wedding ring</i>... It made him forget how tedious and painful it was to move with the arrow still stuck in him. He dodged the attack with a single side step, and the sword drove through the flesh of the assailant as if he were flaying a rabbit. </p><p>The bald one still held back, staying in the background, Geralt's sword loosely in his hand. He would not make it easy for him, but he let his comrades run to their doom without hesitation. In the end, they were all the same. Their idea of witchers was vague, almost mystical, but they were all eager to find out if there were any human traits beneath the legends. But then, when they lay in their blood, they whimpered for their pitiful lives, as if to conjure up any humanity they had denied the witcher. <br/>
<br/>
If they wanted animal instincts, they could have just that. As far as some things were concerned, Geralt had all too human traits, and he didn't hesitate to take his anger out on them, even if it was basically ridiculous, almost childish. He could nearly hear Emhyr's voice in his head, <i>"Those are just objects,"</i> he would say. But they weren't, not for him. And he didn't kill the men, he wasn't vengeful and not half the monster they probably took him for.</p><p>Number three had his own (well, probably stolen) short sword, but Geralt made short work of him. Soon after, the fourth one also lay in the dust with his eyes wide open, clutching his shoulder with one hand, as if he still couldn't believe where the guy with the arrow in his thigh had gotten the speed and agility from. Geralt was running on pure adrenaline now, and while it would have been a waste to use any potions on these blokes – if he still had them – it wouldn't have hurt to have some now, as his movements seemed to ram the arrow only deeper into his flesh. The remnants of the poison still made him a bit dizzy, and every step was a sharp knife into his leg.  </p><p>But now only Baldy was left, and he would soon realize, just like the others, what it meant to mess with a witcher. The guy was either stupid or pretty confident of himself because his nasty face showed no fear. He swung the sword loosely in his hand, a boastful swagger; however, it did not catch. Geralt just stood there, perfectly still, his body balanced so that he put as little weight as possible on his right leg, but ready to do so should it be necessary. They always underestimated one thing: that he was willing to fight through anything, even pain. </p><p>"It would be better just to leave now. There's still time," he said against his better judgment. "There's nothing more to gain here."</p><p>"But I don't have anything left to lose either, do I?"</p><p>A swift, deft advance followed the words. But Baldy tried a blow from above – powerful but predictable, even more so for an experienced swordsman. Geralt ignored the stinging pain in his leg as he took a small step to the right, parrying the blow with his sword held to the side. His quick counterattack was textbook, but in that case, Baldy was trained from it as well – he rolled off the inevitable blow and was back on his feet in no time. </p><p>The arrow still secreted a little poison; Geralt felt his body reacting to it. He was slower than usual, his reactions stiffer than necessary, but he doubted his opponent suspected that. He still seemed to think that his injury should stop the witcher. That he would have an easy time of it. But he was wrong.<br/>
Lunge, feint, and thrust came in quick succession, forcing his opponent to dodge. Despite his rather massive stature, the man was not unskilled, and at some point in his miserable life, he must have learned not only how to hold a sword correctly but how to use it. He did not make the mistake of permanently hitting Geralt's sword, as many untrained fighters did. That only cost strength and brought a somewhat acceptable result only with equal opponents anyway. </p><p>Baldy searched for gaps in Geralt's defense (he found none), and when that proved fruitless, he began to try to disrupt his balance with powerful blows. Aiming for the legs seemed to be a reasonable tactic since it was clear that Geralt was dragging his leg. So he aimed at the left one to force him to put more weight on the injured right. It would have worked for anyone else, but not with a witcher. Instead, Geralt turned the tables and permanently shortened the distance between them. He parried the attacks with quick counterattacks, pushing Baldy back, coming closer and closer to him. And the latter reacted precisely like a stressed student who had mouthed off and dared to challenge the master. </p><p>The only thing left for him to do was to back away, yet all around the shabby old hut was nothing but forest. So if he didn't want to trip or run backwards into a tree, Baldy was forced to turn an attack into a counterattack. But he lacked the time and skill to do so, and that was his downfall. For a second, he frantically looked behind him to scan the surroundings. That was enough for Geralt to advance. Once again, a tremendous pain shot through his leg as he, both hands on the handle, performed an arcing motion. Once again, he ignored it, and what his attack lacked in apparent elegance, experience and instinct made up for. Strength alone was not the key. Baldy learned that like hundreds before him. Geralt's sword struck him just below the right shoulder, piercing the leather jerkin, causing the overzealous bandit to stumble. Even as he pulled out the blade, Geralt kicked him hard in the stomach. With a surprised gasp, the wannabe abductor went down.</p><p>Geralt grabbed the sword in Baldy's hand – <i>his</i> sword – and wrestled it out of his wrist after a brief struggle. He resisted the impulse to give the guy another kick and turned, shifting his weight back onto his left leg. The desire to get rid of the damned arrow became overwhelming. He looked at the horses - decent animals; he could just take one of them. Somehow he would get through the ride back. It occurred to him that he had no idea where he was. He glanced up to at least approximate the direction. The sky was clear, but thunder could be heard in the distance. Geralt blinked, almost disoriented for a moment. The adrenaline in his body stopped working. The last remnants of the poison had not yet disappeared, dizziness set in, and his leg almost gave way. </p><p>It was not thunder. Something, still far away, but on a direct course in their direction, was approaching. For a moment, he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice that Baldy – amazingly still conscious, though losing copious amounts of blood – grabbed his ankle. Pure instinct ensured that he did not instantly go down and that he noticed the slender knife in the other's hand in time. A quick movement of his sword, which was still in his hand, was enough, and Baldy's pathetic little attack went into the dust with his knife. </p><p>He cursed, rage in his hate-filled eyes, and Geralt finally had enough. He turned his sword, the hilt pointing down, and took a short swing. But Baldy's hand was still on his ankle, and in a last desperate moment, he pulled hard. Weakened by everything that lay behind him, Geralt now actually began to falter. Bad luck for Baldy, because as he fell, his sword hilt hit the latter right at the wound Geralt had caused him, and he howled and rolled his eyes. </p><p>Then Geralt went down on his knees, and that in turn was <i>his</i> bad luck. The pain was so overwhelming that he nearly fainted on the spot. No longer able to keep his balance, he fell forward. Although he reflexively stretched out a hand, he could not prevent the new impact. The arrow bored deeper into his thigh than before. There wasn't even enough breath for a scream. The world turned into fire. But the red flames before his eyes changed to black almost instantly, and he went limp. </p><p> </p><p>     This time, he didn't open his eyes right away when the world returned – or rather, when he returned into it. His senses kicked in one by one, gently, as if he had been asleep for just a moment. He heard the soft crackling of a fireplace from somewhere, and beneath him, he perceived the familiar feeling of smooth sheets. The gentle smell that hit his nose – tart, a little juniper, a little oakwood – made it finally clear where he was. Still, his eyes remained closed just a little longer. There were cool fingers on his much too warm forehead. Something moist stroked over his brow and cheeks, and that felt nice.</p><p>"You drowned me in the bathtub, you know," he said, and he felt as if he could almost hear Emhyr's frown. </p><p>Now he opened his eyes, but if he had thought the dark eyes above him would look puzzled, he was disappointed.</p><p>"You're feverish, Geralt. Be still."</p><p>Now that was typical of Emhyr, to tell him off like that although he had almost killed him. Geralt frowned and tried to focus.</p><p>"No, that was before. This morning or whatever. You <i>drowned</i> me in the bathtub. Why would you do that?"</p><p>Emhyr looked worried for a moment, not sure how to respond. It was not too serious an injury, and the court sorceress had assured him that there was no residue left of the poison. Emhyr had experience with an injured, unconscious, and disoriented Geralt, but little with one who accused him of attempted murder in a fever. He set aside the cloth he had been using to cool Geralt's forehead, brushed a sweaty strand from his face, and gently replied, "I assure you, I have not and will never drown you."</p><p>Geralt grinned broadly.</p><p>"I thought you were going to say, at most, you'll drown me in your..."</p><p>"Don't you dare."</p><p>"... love?"</p><p>If that was possible, his grin only widened. Emhyr shook his head, let out a small sigh, and maybe the corners of his mouth turned up a very tiny bit. </p><p>"You won't remember it in a few hours anyway, but fine, on my account, I'll drown you in <i>love</i>. You're an idiot, you know."</p><p>"Yours?"</p><p>Emhyr sighed once again. Then he leaned forward, breathed a kiss on Geralt's hot forehead, and replied firmly, "Mine."</p><p><i>And that,</i> Geralt thought before a much more restful sleep overcame him, <i>is probably the most pleasant way to drown.</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Take hold of the flame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A lovely person prompted me with not much more than the word "cooking" and another lovely person considered the following to be "domestic bliss". Yet, you know, it can get a bit spicy in the kitchen... (in other words, it MAY be a bit unsafe to read at work, although it's not really smutty). Art by <a href="https://deagle.tumblr.com">@deagle</a> :)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bed was significantly smaller than what he was used to. So it was hardly surprising that when Emhyr awoke, he found himself lying half on top of Geralt. A whole bundle of white hair tickled his nose. Oddly enough, it smelled faintly of hay. <em>Horse stable,</em> he thought, amused. Apart from that, it just smelled like Geralt, an indefinable, somehow spicy <em>(irresistible)</em> scent. Not quite tangible, not quite real. Like the whole man, actually, which was exactly why he loved him.</p>
<p>Emhyr noticed that his right leg was resting rather uncomfortably on Geralt's hip, somehow entangled with him. Still, although he had pinned him somewhat down with his body in sleep and he was buried in his pillows, Geralt just slept on peacefully. Amazing, how this man could sleep in the most inconvenient positions. As if it was precisely Emhyrs weight that he needed to be comfortable. That wasn't true; he knew that – Geralt was just used to taking advantage of any sleep he could get, even if he had to do so sitting up. Still, Emhyr liked the thought that his husband would sleep better beside him. <em>He</em> did, that was for sure. </p>
<p>That wasn't why he found himself in this ridiculously narrow bed (which Geralt claimed was a <em>perfectly standard size for two people</em>). At least it wasn't the only reason. The fact that they were now married did not mean that they were free of their obligations, and they both seemed to cling to them with unusual stubbornness. So it happened that they didn't see much of each other, especially when Geralt was away on a contract for almost two weeks, as he had been recently, and eventually stopped off at Corvo Bianco to check up on things. But for this case, they had an agreement, as silly as it was touching at the same time. They called it a kind of hiatus, and there was only one person in the palace who was in on it – the court sorceress, and she was necessary to make it work at all. </p>
<p>In this way, Emhyr occasionally spent a night in Touissaint (without his troublesome cousin knowing). Although they usually didn't stray far from the house (<em>the bed</em>), starry nights under Touissaint's sky were always the closest thing to a honeymoon. Now it was morning, and in a few hours, he would be picked up again just as discreetly as he had come here. Carefully, Emhyr tried to untie their entwined legs. Getting out of the tangled hair was much harder; he liked the smell and how savage Geralt looked when the unkempt mane fell over his shoulders. With that hair and all the scars on his body, he was a unique, wonderful sight that Emhyr could never get enough of. Even when he realized, as he did now, that the only reason he saw so much of it was that he had snatched the entire blanket during the night. However, he had warmed Geralt for it with his body, which was probably somehow a compensation. </p>
<p>The golden eyes opened just as Emhyr lifted his head.</p>
<p>"Fuck," was the first thing Geralt said, his voice still hinting sleep. </p>
<p>If there was a way to show amusement only by lifting the eyebrows, Emhyr had mastered it. </p>
<p>"If that is really the first thing you want to do?"</p>
<p>"Not funny," returned his witcher, growling. "You filled me up with your wine last night. I'm having a hangover. Who brings <em>wine</em> to Touissaint anyway?"</p>
<p>"One fine day, maybe this dead vineyard of yours will bear fruit, and then you can retaliate. Besides, you can't get a hangover, actually."</p>
<p>"I <em>can</em> get a headache."</p>
<p>"That's gone in a couple of minutes."</p>
<p>"You're heartless," Geralt muttered from somewhere under his tangle of hair. "What time is it? Are you leaving already?"</p>
<p>"No, we still have some time."</p>
<p>Emhyr bent down, wiped some stubborn hair from Geralt's face, and kissed him gently. He still tasted of wine, and they both had to rinse their mouths, but he couldn't help touching those lips with his first thing in the morning. He always earned a smile, as if the sun rose twice. Geralt just lay there, looking at him, regarding him with that mixture of wonder and admiration that hadn't left him in a long time. The wedding hadn't changed that; perhaps it had only intensified the amazement in particular. </p>
<p>"We could still have breakfast together," he suggested. "Although... I told Marlene not to drop by until around noon."</p>
<p>"I suppose you had a slightly different breakfast in mind?" </p>
<p>Geralt grinned, but his traitorous stomach decided to use that very moment to growl. </p>
<p>"That can wait if you want to satisfy another hunger first," he said at Emhyr's skeptical look, grabbing his neck to get another kiss.</p>
<p>But to his surprise, Emhyr replied, "You know, we could actually have breakfast together. We're usually never alone when we do that. I could cook something. It would be peaceful."</p>
<p>Geralt gave him an incredulous look. </p>
<p>"You want to do what?"</p>
<p>Emhyr's lips curled into one of those little cocky smiles. </p>
<p>"You don't believe it? Well, my dear, until my childhood dissolved so rudely into a curse, I did indeed enjoy an excellent upbringing. Strict, but effective. I can in fact do a few small dishes."</p>
<p>Geralt narrowed his eyes, unsure if this was another of Emhyr's strange jokes. </p>
<p>"You want to <em>cook</em> me something," he repeated, without it sounding like a question – more like a not-quite-serious statement. </p>
<p>He should have known better than to challenge Emhyr, of all people. </p>
<p>There was a flash in the latter's eyes. Not only did he love being right, but he also loved each and every one of his little victories over his spouse – each war of words, each stare that he held out longer. So he got up with grace, dressed in no time, and was already halfway out the door when Geralt untangled his hair with his fingers and said in confusion, "You're serious."</p>
<p>Emhyr turned around, the doorknob already in his hand, and replied without any irony, "I'm basically serious about everything. You should know that by now."</p>
<p>Sometime later, Geralt stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wrapped only in the bedspread, still tousled. It was a rare sight: he was completely relaxed, and not just because he was in his own home. Moreover, it was also quite a stimulating sight, but Emhyr was not easily distracted. He had quickly gained an overview of the kitchen, and now he was slicing apples with extreme precision while heating a pan over the fire. </p>
<p>Geralt watched him skeptically as if he still couldn't believe what he was seeing. In fact, he had never seen him like this before: barefoot in a kitchen, modestly dressed in the same black pants and black shirt he had appeared in yesterday. Yes, the shirt was elaborately embroidered with not very modest gold threads, but by Emhyr's standards, he made a very casual impression. He also hadn't combed his hair yet, which was why some of his little black curls were still visible. Emhyr indeed appeared utterly relaxed as well. And that was even rarer than with Geralt, who stood in the door frame and gave him a look that now <em>truly</em> indicated a completely different hunger. </p>
<p>However, neither the look nor the sight could distract Emhyr. There was a small bowl in front of him, and he cracked some eggs in it. Then he added flour, grabbed a jug, poured milk into the bowl, and stirred the dough carefully. Checking, he opened a couple of jars on a shelf by the wall, smelled them, stuck his finger in one, and licked it. He gave Geralt a quick glance. He was still standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, and his smile had something moonstruck about it. Finally, Emhyr found what he was looking for and added a pinch of salt to the bowl. </p>
<p>"It looks like you know what you're doing," Geralt said, his voice slightly hoarse. </p>
<p>Emhyr shook his head. </p>
<p>"If I had known how stimulating you would find this, I would have done it sooner," he replied, slightly amused, as he added some lard to the pan. </p>
<p>A slight sizzling sounded, and a pleasant smell filled the room. Something was satisfying about this: an immediate, visible result. An actual change for someone who often had to plan his strategies months in advance. Now he added some apple slices to the pan and sprinkled sugar on top. The smell became sweeter, more intense. Emhyr rummaged in some drawers and sniffed at several small jars until he triumphantly held up one of them. </p>
<p>"Cinnamon," he said, sprinkling a tiny amount into the pan before adding some batter. </p>
<p>Geralt didn't care what he poured into it; he simply liked the sight of his husband, who seemed to be wholly absorbed in his current activity. Who would have ever expected the Emperor of Nilfgaard to be able to make <em>pancakes</em>? There was something satisfyingly meditative about how he baked out one after another and lifted them onto a plate.</p>
<p>"You'll have to eat these quickly; there's no oven here," Emhyr remarked. </p>
<p>Geralt didn't answer; he continued to look at him. The warmth of the fire had reddened Emhyr's cheeks. Eventually, the bowl was empty, the plate filled, and Emhyr said, "Make yourself useful and set the table."</p>
<p>Geralt, who seemed to have been waiting only for this announcement, stepped forward, grabbed Emhyr's hand, and replied roughly, "Oh, I'll set the table," and pulled him along, pushing him against the small sideboard. Almost unexpectedly – for himself – Emhyr did not resist; he allowed himself to be pulled, uttering only a feeble, "I thought you wanted to eat." </p>
<p>"I'll eat, don't worry."</p>
<p>"Obscene." </p>
<p>"Maybe, but you'll still like it."</p>
<p>Emhyr did not doubt that, even more so when Geralt began to capture his mouth with a tempestuous kiss that betrayed his passion almost as clearly as his sight – for now, he dropped the blanket he still had wrapped around him, presenting his hard-on. </p>
<p>Emhyr raised a brow in one of his meaningful, typical gestures.</p>
<p>"This is what you get for watching me cook?"</p>
<p>"You have no idea. But don't worry, no one goes hungry in this kitchen."</p>
<p>"No more kitchen jokes," Emhyr groaned while Geralt was already in the process of relieving him of his clothes.</p>
<p>The room was neatly heated up, and the old house with its few windows was rarely cool anyway. However, the fire's proximity was not the only reason why beads of sweat stood on Emhyr's forehead after a short time. </p>
<p>By now, the whole place was a mess - there lay his shirt and trousers, the blanket, and some stuff Geralt had unintentionally thrown off the sideboard, as he had pushed his husband against it. Emhyr couldn't care less, for now, Geralt had gone to his knees, and he did his utmost to make Emhyr raise his arousal to the same level. This was not difficult – as usual, the sight of the witcher was nearly enough. The golden eyes, half-hidden under all the tangled hair, which he could hardly stop himself from reaching into, sparkled when they looked up at him. And his lips were shiny too, moistened by his tongue, which was now already so close. It was part of the game to hold back a little longer, and he put his hands on Emhyr's hips, also to savor the feeling for another moment. But everything about this made it hard to resist – the warmth of the kitchen, Emhyr's very own smell, now mixed with apparent arousal, that surprisingly soft down of pubic hair for such a large and imposing man, now right before Geralt's eyes. He didn't try any longer.</p>
<p>The heat grew stronger, but now it came from within, rising directly from Emhyr's abdomen, moving upward, spiraling up in lustful waves. The feeling enclosed him, like Geralt's mouth, and his fingers clawed into the wood of the furniture behind him, knuckles almost as white as the hair below. The tongue was a pure provocation, just like the looks. A challenge, the attempt to break through Emhyr's composure prematurely, always in vain. After all, he'd been playing this game much longer than Geralt, at least in this way.</p>
<p>It was time to turn the tables. He leaned forward and placed his hand on the back of Geralt's neck, neither gentle nor firm, his fingers performing a sole impression of possessiveness. It was a power that had nothing at all to do with his status, and it was the only one Geralt had followed – ever since he had first decided that there were situations in which he would deliberately kneel before him. He did not do it for the Emperor; he did it solely for the man Emhyr was besides. </p>
<p>With gentle pressure from his fingertips only, this man now ordered him to stand up. He wrapped his arms around that amazingly slender waist, pulling him closer, while at the same time, his eyes were locked on Geralt's, just as it was the other way around. Both locked onto, both lost in each other. Could it get any warmer in the kitchen? Slowly, very slowly, he bent over, seeking the wet lips, but his own taste on them was nearly too much for him. </p>
<p>Almost roughly, he whirled around, his arms still around Geralt, and with amazing strength (and perhaps some encouragement), he lifted him very briefly until Geralt was sitting on the sideboard. More things fell, kitchen utensils, garlic bulbs, a strangely deformed golden spoon. </p>
<p>"We need some...," Geralt began, a little out of breath from both the kiss and the arousal. </p>
<p>"It's a <em>kitchen</em>," Emhyr interrupted him as his hands roamed over Geralt's body. </p>
<p>He gave his fingers just as much time as his lips, for that was <em>his</em> part of their game, and as expected, his spouse responded with impatient little sounds. But Emhyr had already found what he was looking for. A narrow little clay jug contained oil that smelled very slightly of the olives grown in Touissaint. It was not an unusual tool for what he had in mind, though considerably simpler than anything they usually used. </p>
<p>"Someone's gonna need to clean this place up," Geralt commented as Emhyr yanked a bundle of herbs off a hook on the wall while trying to reach for the jar.</p>
<p>"If you want to make sure your housekeeper doesn't find out what happened in her kitchen, you better do that," he countered. </p>
<p>But then, the time for banter was over. A glance without words, a silent agreement they gave each other over and over again, despite all the passion. They smiled at each other in their inimitable way: a broad expression on one side, a mere sparkle in the eyes on the other. The time had come to stop holding back, and all passion channeled into a powerful first thrust, so hard that the back of Geralt's head hit a wall shelf. His suppressed scream might have expressed pain or pleasure at the same time; it didn't matter.</p>
<p>The kitchen was a furnace now, but most of the heat emanated from their bodies, less from the fire behind them. Emhyr's hands, still slippery from the oil, clawed at Geralt's ass, holding him steady while he kept a ruthless pace. All playfulness had fallen from them, and they pursued their lust with a kind of sacred seriousness. </p>
<p>The sweet whiff of the pancakes had long since been covered by a tangy scent of sweat and passion. Unfamiliar sounds filled the place, usually accustomed only to the hissing of frying food or the clinking of dishes. Now, there was the slapping of skin against skin.  Lips, that met each other in the middle of a moan. A word, an invitation, a demand for more. Desire, increasing the more it was indulged, became sounds, became touch, until they indeed became one. </p>
<p>The release was like a fire that never loses its spark. And when it came, it came with a sigh and a groan, with laughter silenced by a kiss. After that, they just held each other until their hearts calmed down. When he had regained his speech - even if his voice still sounded a little flat - Emhyr said, "Your food is cold."</p>
<p>Geralt looked at him, a sheepish expression crossing his features. </p>
<p>"I hate apple pancakes," he blurted out.</p>
<p>A raised eyebrow was the maximum amount of astonishment Emhyr allowed himself.</p>
<p>"You eat them all the time. We have them for breakfast several times a week."</p>
<p>"I eat them because <em>you</em> eat them. You seem to like them; <em>you're</em> the one who keeps ordering them. And you seem to like it when I eat them. That's the only reason I keep doing it."</p>
<p>Emhyr hid a small smile that wanted to steal onto his mouth in Geralt's tangled hair and whispered close to his ear, "That' s idiotic."</p>
<p>"I know," Geralt returned. </p>
<p>"I like it," Emhyr said, and only a very, very careful observer would have noticed that his shoulders moved slightly. As if in a tiny laugh, perhaps. </p>
<p>"I know," Geralt repeated. </p>
<p><em>He</em> did not hide his smile, and the sun rose for the second time that morning. It was going to be a beautiful day. </p>
<p>
  <a href="https://abload.de/image.php?img=tumblr_cab0eed5d2ac7fqbj5f.jpg"></a>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A seeker enthralled by a flame</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A prompt by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/frances_the_red/pseuds/frances_the_red">@frances-the-red</a>:</p><p>
  <em>Oh no! Geralt lost his engagement ring! 😱 What happened and how is the godling Hansi involved?</em>
</p><p>I've changed the engagement ring to the wedding ring, and Hansi is Johnny, which is more common to all English-speaking gamers. I also had to alter a specific quest from the game: Usually, you can only have Sarah either get to know Johnny or stay with Corinne. Here, we have both. </p><p>This is just a funny little story with nothing much happening, so rated G. ;)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    The second of waking up, Geralt realized something was fundamentally wrong. </p><p>This had nothing to do with the fact that dull rays of the sun shining through the curtains indicated morning was already advanced. Nothing to do with him waking up in a foreign bed. Or that half of his body was hanging out, as if it missed the habit of a much larger bed. All of this was not unusual. So what was it? When his eyes opened, Geralt immediately knew where he was (<em>in Novigrad</em>), what he had been doing the night before (<em>getting drunk with Dandelion and Zoltan out of pure reunion</em>), and why he was here (<em>a contract, of course, and this was a stopover on the way back</em>). </p><p>Nothing of all this was wrong. What he could see of the room without moving his head (<em>possibly one too many beers)</em> was normal. A guest room at the Chameleon, furnished with Dandelion's somewhat exuberant taste and clearly refined by Priscilla's hand; fresh flowers and fruit on a sideboard. The fingertips of Geralt's right hand brushed wood. It took him a moment to realize that his arm was hanging out of the bed, touching the floor. The floor felt normal, as did his body, which was slowly waking up and painfully reminding him that he needed to pee. </p><p>But he was not ready yet. His mind was still trying to trace this feeling, even if it might well have been only a vague thought from a dream. Lost in thought, he involuntarily began tapping a kind of rhythm on the floor, an odd imitation of what Emhyr did when he became impatient. And then he understood. An ice-cold feeling ran through his abdomen, and the natural need was gone. </p><p>The ring was missing.</p><p>Hastily Geralt raised his hand, straightening in the bed, bringing his fingers close to his face, staring. His ring finger had a small, light-colored indentation, an imprint that made it even more evident that something was missing. His wedding ring was gone. Against better judgment, Geralt jumped out of bed and carefully examined the floor; he even crawled under the bed, checked every crack, combed the whole room. </p><p>It was simply easier to assume that the ring had slipped off his finger <em>(it sat perfectly, he never took it off, not even when he put on gloves and went into battle</em>) than to believe someone had dared to steal it from him. That was ridiculous. Stealing from a witcher? In one of the hottest establishments in town (<em>a fucking wicked, disgusting town full of disgusting subjects, well</em>). Even drunk as he had been last night, that was not possible. Who would dare to enter his room without him noticing (<em>impossible</em>) and pull a <em>ring</em> off his finger? </p><p>It was undoubtedly a valuable piece, but the silver... Geralt's eyes immediately darted to the wall next to the bed, although he had long known what he would see. The swords were still there, leaning neatly against the wall in their scabbards. </p><p>That didn't make any sense. Who would steal a ring when there were two swords whose common material value was significantly higher? Indeed, the blades were almost unsaleable – no merchant in his right mind would buy witchers' swords, especially those whose engraved runes were more than clearly traceable to the owner. Nevertheless, Geralt hurriedly began to check the rest of his equipment. The armor, the saddlebags... everything was there; nothing was missing. </p><p>Geralt sat down on the bed, resting his slightly aching skull on his hands. Had he perhaps lost the ring during the evening? Or – even worse – had he, in a frenzy, agreed to use the piece as a prize in a game of Gwent? He was notorious (<em>well, in the eyes of a certain man at least</em>) for occasionally doing idiotic things, but Geralt thought something like that was out of the question. </p><p>Besides, he didn't want to imagine that possibility because it would have meant that, in a few days, he would have had to confront his husband to tell him he had lost the ring. The symbol of their love come true, the flame that he always carried with him like the one in his heart.... </p><p>"Silly. And you're hyperventilating."</p><p>There wasn't really a voice in his head, but he could imagine it very well (<em>and that was very close to what Emhyr would actually say before he found out the ring was gone</em>). Besides, the voice was right. Geralt took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. If the idea of being robbed seemed absurd, at least there was a way to find out if it was valid. All he had to do was focus on possible clues in the room. However, that was easier said than done; after all, he was in Novigrad, in a much-frequented house – supposedly the most popular in the whole city. Looking for traces in this room was like telling a dog to search through a massive pile of shit to find out if his best friend had been there.  </p><p>The same was true for the smell. However, chance aided him – this room didn't seem to be used quite as often. Perhaps Dandelion indeed did keep it only for friends at all times, or maybe he exaggerated his establishment's popularity. In any case, most of the traces and smells that Geralt's senses picked up were older and not of concern. Quite clearly, his own smell still hung in the room, an almost visible cloud of alcohol, leather, horse.... well, he had arrived only a few hours before. But there was something else. More like a hunch that someone else had actually been here – a kind of whiff, an indefinable but strangely familiar smell, as if he had sensed it once before, and a tiny trail of footsteps, as delicate as if that had been just a ghost. But a ghost would have left no visible traces at all.</p><p>Even these were almost impossible to see, smell or feel. It was strange, but at least a better explanation than that he had simply lost the ring. Still, what creature would have managed to pull the thing off his finger and disappear with it completely without a sound and almost without a trace? There was only one way to find out, and, if possible, before anyone saw him without the ring. Now it didn't seem like such a good idea that he had presented it so openly (<em>because he was damn proud of it</em>). </p><p>Geralt left the Chameleon like a suitor who had fallen asleep over his secret lover – very quietly. No one was awake yet anyway. He disappeared without a message, which was not that unusual, and sneaked out through the back exit. It was challenging to follow the delicate breeze on the streets and impossible to make out the tracks anymore. Almost as if the thief had fled across the rooftops – a not so unlikely possibility. Besides, the city itself stank of all the shit that places like these stink of: too many people and their numerous vices.  </p><p>His motivation was high (<em>if not desperate</em>), so his focus was tremendous. The sight of a witcher trudging through Novigrad with a grim expression on his face, looking neither left nor right, was not common even here. As so often, his reputation preceded him, and if he had bothered to look into the eyes of the people who hurriedly avoided him, he probably could have guessed which of the numerous things said about him they were most likely to believe. He didn't care anyway. Geralt followed the fleeting trail of a breeze mixed with so many smells that it became almost impossible to keep track of it. </p><p>Twice he lost it, once he almost lost his nerve, and yet he held on convulsively to that one delicate scent. It led him out of the city, which was good; it would be easier to track now. Only briefly did he give up following the scent because, outside the city gate, he was sure to find it again. The trail led directly away from the main road, which didn't surprise him. The brazen thief surely had not been interested in encountering any guards. So he unhitched his horse from the capable businessman who had recently started running a livery stable near the entrance.</p><p>        /</p><p>*//////{&lt;&gt;==================-</p><p>        \</p><p>    It went cross-country, over meadows and fields, which Geralt had to ride around as a precaution if he did not want to incur the farmers' wrath, and he lost valuable time, but never the trail. Whoever had taken the ring had been nimble, and they were several hours ahead of him. But he wondered where this would lead. The ring had hardly been stolen by a magpie that had flown into its nest with it. So why through the countryside and into the forest? Maybe the thief just wanted to hide and wait because there was no direct way to the next town from here, and Geralt still considered it doubtful that it would be possible to sell the ring, just like the swords. However, some crazy collectors paid a fortune for witcher's memorabilia. Maybe there was a black market for his wedding ring. This was such a monstrous thought that he already imagined what he would do to the thief if….</p><p>Geralt stopped as if rooted to the spot. The scent ceased here, in a small clearing of beech trees, in the middle of a meadow, sprinkled with daisies and wild herbs. He had been leading Roach on the reins for quite a while because the forest had become too dense. Now he let go, patted her briefly, and whispered to her to be good and stay put, which earned him a snort that sounded almost contemptuous. </p><p>The trail might end here, but that didn't mean he had lost it. He perceived a presence that was trying to hide, but... Geralt looked up.</p><p>"Johnny," he said. "You can come down now."</p><p>Up there, perched in a treetop, sat the reason why the smell had appeared familiar to him from the very beginning. He had just not been able to assign it to the little godling immediately. In fact, Geralt had not expected to see him again at all. </p><p>"I don't want to," resounded a pitched voice from above. </p><p>"I can imagine, but I'd rather you come down. My neck hurts from staring up."</p><p>"That's old age."</p><p>"I'm sure you know something about that," Geralt replied patiently. "Come down now. I want to ask you something."</p><p>Johnny grumbled, and he played coy for a few more seconds, but he seemed to realize that he would not escape the witcher just by hiding in the tree. So he climbed down the bark as nimbly as a squirrel, but when he reached the ground, he still kept some distance.</p><p>"Long time no see, witcher," he chirped, though also with a certain mistrust – which, in Geralt's opinion, he had good reason to feel. </p><p>"Johnny, you know it's dangerous for you to show yourself outside," Geralt began carefully. </p><p>The little one grimaced. </p><p>"I'm careful. Besides, sometimes it's pretty boring to just sit inside all the time."</p><p>"You promised to watch Corinne – and Sarah, didn't you?"</p><p>"And I do! Really!"</p><p>Now a genuine smile covered the godling's face, who outwardly and also in many traits almost resembled a child. The smile might have as much to do with his conspecific Sarah as with the sorceress who had taken them in. They could have lived a pleasant life in the wilderness, where they would not have had to hide all the time. But the godling's natural kindness had driven Sarah to return to Novigrad as if she felt a connection with the oneiromancer, and Johnny had gone along. It was certainly not a forever bond, but it seemed to work.</p><p>"I'm sure you do," Geralt replied, "But listen.... is it possible you paid me a visit last night?"</p><p>Johnny's big eyes had an innocent look. </p><p>"Maybe?"</p><p>"And did you <em>maybe</em> take something that doesn't belong to you?"</p><p>Johnny scratched his head. </p><p>"Well, that would depend on how you define property, I guess."</p><p>Geralt sighed.</p><p>"My ring, Johnny. Why did you steal my ring? And don't even try to deny it. I know you have it in your little pouch."</p><p>Involuntarily, the godling's gaze went to the slim bag he carried over his shoulder. There could hardly be a more apparent admission of guilt, and he noticed his mistake immediately.</p><p>"Oh, unfair," he complained. "You tricked me. That'll teach me to play with witchers again."</p><p>"This isn't a game, Johnny," Geralt said, now noticeably more severe. "Give the ring back."</p><p>"Oh, but I can't."</p><p>"Why not?"</p><p>"I need it."</p><p>"For what?" sighed Geralt. </p><p>"That's a secret," the godling quickly replied.</p><p>"Johnny..."</p><p>"No, no, I won't be fooled again!"</p><p>"I'm sure Corinne doesn't know anything about it. Right? Would she approve?"</p><p>"You're not going to rat me out, are you? That's not proper between friends."</p><p>Johnny was visibly indignant now.</p><p>"It's not <em>proper</em> between friends to steal from each other, either."</p><p>The godling sighed.</p><p>"Oh, fine. Suppose you don't rat me out! Promise!"</p><p>Geralt counted very slowly inwardly to ten before answering, albeit through clenched teeth.</p><p>"I promise. So?"</p><p>"Well, if you can give anything on a witcher's word of honor.... I'll try to summon Liuba."</p><p>Geralt stared at him, dumbfounded. </p><p>"Liuba, the goddess of love?"</p><p>Johnny nodded eagerly. Geralt narrowed his eyes.</p><p>"Listen, I have no idea how this works among you godlings, but if Sarah isn't interested in you in that way, summoning a tricky goddess certainly isn't the best approach..."</p><p>"Dumbass. It's not for me," Johnny interrupted him. "It's about Corinne. She's been pretty lonely since she started taking care of us. She doesn't go out much, and even though we've offered to leave, she says she doesn't want us to. As far as we know, there are hardly any mages left in town. It is reasonably safe, but most are suspicious. And Corinne believes that no one who doesn't understand her powers can love her."</p><p>"Did she say that?"</p><p>Johnny sighed theatrically.</p><p>"We're magical beings, witcher. She doesn't have to say anything."</p><p>"All right, but... Johnny, you and Sarah are already very rare. Gods are – well, in many cases, just myths. Things made up by humans who found winter too cold and dark. And even if Liuba does exist, she may not be the best choice. According to her legend, she more or less killed a woman who asked her for help. Which technically fulfilled the deal to reunite her with her beloved, who happened to die on the battlefield at the same time."</p><p>"Hogwash," the godling replied contemptuously. "I do believe that gods exist. And that they are nothing other than magical beings, just like us. You should understand that, even if your magic is a flyspeck compared to what I can do. That they are myths, yes, that is a merit of the humans, and that's good because otherwise, they would have probably wiped them all out. This way, they've just forgotten many of them."</p><p>Annoyed, Geralt blew a strand of hair out of his face.</p><p>"All right, let's not argue about the existence of gods. Why does my ring have to be the pledge to call her?"</p><p>"It must be a symbol of true love," Johnny said seriously.</p><p>"Surely there will be enough love to be found in Novigrad..."</p><p>"You don't understand! What do you think I have tried already? Garters, lockets with drawings in them, love letters.... None of it worked. This may be a big city, but true love is rarely found."</p><p>"You stole all that?"</p><p>The godling shrugged.</p><p>"And a lot of wedding rings," he admitted. "But yours is special. There's much stronger magic in that."</p><p>"There's no magic in it at all," Geralt objected.</p><p>Johnny chuckled.</p><p>"You have no idea. There is destiny in true love, and the two combined are a rarity. Your ring radiates that. No wonder you don't realize it. You can't do anything but light fires and make people look elsewhere when you don't like them."</p><p>"That's not quite what..."</p><p>"That's some magic you don't know a thing about," Johnny continued. "Why you, of all people, have a ring like that is beyond me. There are far more beautiful wedding rings; believe me, I've had enough in my hand. But I haven't seen one that had an engraving like that. Even the metal was chosen with care. Almost all the wedding rings I saw were gold; yours is not."</p><p>"But what makes you think you can conjure Liuba here in the wilderness, of all places?"</p><p>"Ha, my dear, research!"</p><p>Johnny tapped his nose, a strangely touching gesture, even if it was meant to express superiority. </p><p>"Corinne had picked up some books so we wouldn't be bored. I honestly believe, secretly, that she genuinely thinks we're like children because of our shape. Well, anyway, one of the books was about local legends in the area. It was not difficult to get to the right place. The book said that some lovers claimed to have seen Liuba there."</p><p>"Did the book also say that it was dangerous?" Geralt asked dryly.</p><p>"It said that only true love could summon her," the godling replied unaffected. "Otherwise, Liuba would punish the callers. That's why I need your ring, you see."</p><p>"Well, let's say I believe all that; what happens if you succeed in calling the goddess with this pledge?" asked Geralt.</p><p>"She will accept the gift and fulfill my wish: that Corinne meets the love of her life. You know, she wouldn't have to take care of us. We can do it quite well on our own. But Sarah thinks we make sure her powers don't turn against her. I guess all this dream magic isn't that much fun."</p><p>"I can't let that happen," Geralt said seriously.</p><p>"What, you don't begrudge Corinne finding someone she loves?" asked Johnny indignantly.</p><p>"This isn't about Corinne. You can't give my ring to some goddess. This is my wedding ring, Johnny. It's very important to me."</p><p>"Weren't you listening? That's also one reason why it'll be so valuable to Liuba."</p><p>"I get it," Geralt replied grimly. "But it's my ring, and you can't have it. You'll have to find something else."</p><p>"I told you, I've already tried."</p><p>"All right... I'll try. I'll get you a pledge of true love that's just as good."</p><p>Johnny grimaced.</p><p>"I don't think that's possible."</p><p>"You do believe that you can summon a goddess, and I <em>don't</em> think that will work, either with my ring or if we sacrifice a virgin."</p><p>"That's barbaric," Johnny said indignantly.</p><p>"That's why we're not doing it," Geralt returned irritably. "Listen, you know I could just take that ring off you. But I don't want to hurt you or your, well, religious feelings. So I'm going to help you and get you another love symbol. I'm convinced it doesn't even have to be magical."</p><p>"But..."</p><p>"You don't even know her legend," Geralt continued. "The woman who summoned Liuba paid with jewelry. Among them was possibly a love pledge, a gift, but that's only part of the ritual, isn't it?"</p><p>Johnny nodded slowly.</p><p>"Well, there are a few other things required as well, I've already obtained them all, wasn't exactly easy either."</p><p>"You mean you stole those too."</p><p>"How could I have <em>bought</em> them?" the godling replied innocently. "So, what's your plan?“</p><p>   /</p><p>*//////{&lt;&gt;==================-</p><p>    \</p><p>    Geralt didn't believe for a second that Johnny would succeed in summoning a goddess - let alone that she was anything more than a legend. What he did believe, however, was that maybe <em>something</em> was there. The fact that the information in Johnny's book pointed explicitly to a particular location was hardly a coincidence. Also that the ritual was described in detail – although the special ingredient, namely the love pledge, was mentioned rather vaguely in the book, as he had gotten out of Johnny after some more inquiring. Geralt thought it possible that perhaps something really could be summoned at this point, but certainly not a goddess. A specter, perhaps, or a cursed being, a corgowrath, a Shishiga… whatever it was, he believed it to be rare and old, probably dangerous. </p><p>He asked the godling not to try to start the ritual without him but to prepare it so that they could start right away when Geralt returned. Meanwhile, he rode back to Novigrad, spending an outrageous amount of money on a small silver box decorated with tacky rose petals made of tiny, inexpensive gems. Then he spent considerable time unobtrusively looking around for a mage or sorceress. He could by no means go to Corinne with his request without betraying Johnny – which he didn't want to do because it was clear to him that the godling meant well. But as a being exceedingly connected with nature, he lacked the sense for many human characteristics, and he did not grasp the danger that could hide in such magical incantation. Furthermore, Geralt was aware that he would only get his ring back safely if he played at least partially by Johnny's rules. And in the end, it was always about playing with these creatures. </p><p>He found a mage who, even if they officially no longer had to hide, made a somewhat nervous impression. Geralt had the box covered with a spell that he had thought about for a while and was reasonably sure that Johnny wouldn't recognize what was actually behind it. This took a while, and the mage relaxed a bit, even admitting at the end that he still slept poorly, albeit the city was safe for his kind again. However, prejudices did not disappear from people's minds so quickly. Emhyr held back on the presence of soldiers in the city; it was still a sensitive topic in negotiations. Of the northern kingdoms, no one felt responsible either, which is why crime still flourished in Novigrad. Before leaving, Geralt recommended that the mage visit Corinne – just for safety. Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that he <em>was</em> traveling in the matter of love, after all. That was ridiculous, and besides, it was none of his business.</p><p>When he returned, Johnny had prepared the ritual. He had set up a circle in the clearing, made of half-burned candles and at least one unused one. In the middle of it, he had placed a pile of gifts, mainly jewelry and love letters, all stolen like the candles – like Geralt's ring, but it was not among the other stuff. The godling noticed Geralt's look and defended himself by saying that all of this was only for security, to strengthen the spell. </p><p>"I really don't think that's going to work," Geralt said, "not even with this."</p><p>He held up the silver box.</p><p>"For someone who possesses such a mighty token of love, you're surprisingly doubtful of its power," Johnny remarked pointedly. </p><p>"Maybe, but I'm a reformed skeptic when it comes to love."</p><p>Johnny shook his head.</p><p>"So, what did you bring?"</p><p>"In this box," Geralt claimed dramatically, "I had one of my memories magically locked away."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"A memory of a loving moment."</p><p>"Memories are powerful," Johnny mused. "I just hope it's nothing objectionable?"</p><p>Geralt shrugged.</p><p>"Love has many facets. Ultimately, it's up to your goddess to decide, isn't it?"</p><p>The godling still looked a little indecisive, but finally, he nodded. </p><p>"All right, I'll tell you how we do it," Geralt continued.</p><p>"But I've read the book, I know..."</p><p>"Well, you can do it as the book says. But as soon as the time comes when the box is needed, you give me back the ring. At that exact moment, you hear?"</p><p>Johnny tilted his head.</p><p>"That's not stupid," he said appreciatively. "You think if your little box isn't strong enough, after all, Liuba will be attracted to the power of the ring. In the end, the memory in your little box might still be enough for her. Clever."</p><p>"Exactly," Geralt lied without batting an eye. </p><p>"That way, you can keep the ring, and I can still talk to her.... it's just a little bit of cheating. I like it," Johnny said. "Let's get started."</p><p>So they began. Geralt lit the candles in the order Johnny solemnly told him to. He had even stolen a flint, which Geralt thought was almost more dangerous than anything else he had done. Then began a litany of mumbled words, a strange mixture of elder speech and some gibberish. Maybe some swear words, who could tell for sure. </p><p>At some point, the godling reached into his little bag, and at last, Geralt saw his ring again. The sight of it stung him a little. Perhaps it was indeed strange how attached he was to this object. Still, he did not <em>regard</em> the ring as a mere object. </p><p>"It's time," Johnny whispered, his face a single mask of concentration, his big eyes half-closed.</p><p>Geralt held out his hand with the box. The atmosphere was strange. Evening had fallen on the small clearing; the light had given way to a pale gray, at the edge of which still hung the last pink of the setting sun. The birds' singing from the forest had stopped; not even the woodpecker, which had been hammering on some trees almost all day, could still be heard. Actually, all sounds had fallen silent, even that of small animals in the undergrowth. Although a gentle breeze was blowing, not even a rustle could be heard. </p><p>That was strange, but even stranger was that the air, which had been pure and clear all day, seemed to condense. Johnny had insisted that Geralt put down the swords, but he had placed them on the floor not too far from him and was now glancing at them. If any specter was indeed going to show itself, he had to be quick. The silver sword was prepared in case, but since he didn't know what he was up against, he had to decide on a possible potion at the last second. And he had to get Johnny to safety somehow. </p><p>"Now," Geralt hissed as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. </p><p>Promptly, he held out the box to Johnny. The latter’s eyes seemed even bigger than usual, and a delighted smile now appeared on his face. He took the box and gave the ring to Geralt, who immediately put it on his finger. At the same moment, a strange glow seemed to fill the air. Geralt stood waiting at the edge of the candle circle, his knees slightly bent, ready to make a daring leap towards the swords. It seemed to grow darker around them, while a bright spot of light remained in the center of the circle. The air crackled. Suddenly Johnny chuckled and lowered his eyes in a shy gesture. Geralt stared over at him, frowning. </p><p>"What's going on?"</p><p>The godling did not answer. He seemed not to perceive Geralt at all. Then he nodded and began to speak incoherently.</p><p>"That's right," he said, and "What <em>mage</em>?" </p><p>He chuckled again. Then he pointed to Geralt.</p><p>"No, he has no idea," he said.</p><p>The witcher wondered if Johnny had gone mad. Nothing was there. It <em>seemed</em> as if an apparition was about to materialize, but at the same time, as if something prevented it from doing so. Johnny spoke to the air. Geralt thought carefully. What creature could manage to make itself entirely invisible for a witcher, not even causing the medallion to vibrate? It was also strange that the changed atmosphere had nothing dangerous about it at all. Nevertheless, he thought it impossible that Johnny was talking to a love goddess right now – or that she would show herself to the godling, of all people, who had nothing to offer but a handful of jewelry and a small box covered with a strong but rather silly spell. This only confirmed his suspicion that it was not about a love pledge at all. Geralt took a quick look at his ring. The engraved flame on it seemed to glow red. He ran the index finger of his left hand over it. It was all in his imagination; there was nothing at all.</p><p>Just at that moment, the strange sensation hovering over the surroundings disappeared, and suddenly, the birds began to sing again. The light was back as before. Everything was exactly as before, just as if nothing had ever happened – only the candles had all gone out. </p><p>"What was that just now?" Geralt addressed the godling.</p><p>Johnny looked at him innocently, the box still in his hand. </p><p>"Look, she didn't take it at all. Nor any of the other stuff. She said she'd do it for free for me. You got all worked up over your ring for nothing!"</p><p>"Better safe than sorry," Geralt grumbled, "What did she say, your goddess?"</p><p>He sounded so skeptical that Johnny burst out laughing.</p><p>"You don't believe it even now, do you? I suppose you didn't see anything? Well, these gods play by their own rules, my dear. She said Corinne's already been taken care of. I don't know what that means, but I think Sarah and I won't have to worry about her anytime soon."</p><p>"I see," Geralt replied. He couldn't think of any other answer. He made a mental note to ask Dandelion to check on Corinne occasionally. While he didn't actually believe Johnny had been talking to a goddess, as long as he didn't know what he was dealing with, he preferred to play it safe. If there was some spectral being around, someone would have to take care of it sooner or later. </p><p>   /</p><p>*//////{&lt;&gt;==================-</p><p>    \</p><p>    "You're late."</p><p>Emhyr, engrossed in papers in his study as usual at this hour, did not precisely toss aside his quill at the sight of Geralt, but he leaned back, regarding his spouse intently. </p><p>"Late?" asked Geralt, after closing the door and making sure they were indeed alone (occasionally, there were minions in the alcoves, scurrying out at a hint). Only then did he casually stroll around the table to pick up the kiss he thought he richly deserved. He got it, and it felt like he had actually been gone too long. The fact that he then sat down on the desk, however, earned him a disapproving look.</p><p>"You're crumpling important documents. All I’m saying is that, according to my information, you had already arrived in Novigrad about a week ago. Usually, you stay a day or two, then you head back."</p><p>"You sent your spies after me?"</p><p>"Certainly not."</p><p>"So you have spies in Novigrad?"</p><p>"Don't act surprised," Emhyr returned. "With your penchant for dubious adventures, you can't blame me for occasionally liking to know where you hang out."</p><p>"Dubious... pah."</p><p>Geralt grinned cockily.</p><p>"Then why didn't your <em>spies</em> tell you where I was if you think I should have been back by now?"</p><p>Emhyr didn't bat an eye, but at least he had to admit, "I'm afraid they... lost sight of you at some point."</p><p>"Well, maybe I just don't let myself be watched on my <em>dubious adventures</em>," Geralt countered. "I'll tell you about it sometime; however, right now, I want to get rid of the dust from the journey. Just this much: I was traveling in matters of love."</p><p>Emhyr folded his arms, raising his brows. </p><p>"Is this going to be some weird attempt to make me jealous?"</p><p>"Oh, would that work?"</p><p>"Sure, though it would be high treason."</p><p>"High treason?"</p><p>"Of course," Emhyr replied calmly, "betraying the Emperor is high treason."</p><p>"In that case," Geralt said, "it's a good thing your spies didn't get me."</p><p>He wiped away Emhyr's now slightly confused expression with another kiss. Before closing his eyes, he took one last look at his ring. </p><p>This story was probably better left a secret after all. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Oh my beautiful disaster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This one's a prompt by the lovely <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyThrush">@ShyTrush</a>, who wished for "Geralt whump, poisoning, and Emhyr being competent and taking care of Geralt afterwards and making sure he’s comfy." My pleasure! And if it's not enough that one wonderful writer asked such a sweet thing of me, another brilliant writer was my beta on this! Thank you again <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_finn/pseuds/king_finn">@king_finn!</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You don't have to do that, you know."</p><p>Geralt's voice sounded a little nervous. But the knife at his throat was probably a good reason to be. </p><p>"I believe I do," was Emhyr's calm reply. "You're scratchy. You've been claiming for days that you don't have time to shave, and you refuse to let the servants do it."</p><p>"You won't let them touch your neck either," Geralt returned. </p><p>He sat bare-chested in front of the mirror; behind him stood Emhyr with a towel in one hand and the razor in the other. </p><p>"Which is why I have decades of experience doing it myself. Now hold still."</p><p>Emhyr set the knife precisely. </p><p>"I could still do it myself," Geralt replied. </p><p>"I don't know why a razor makes you so nervous," Emhyr said reprovingly. </p><p>"I think it's more the fact that you're holding it."</p><p>"By which you mean to imply that you don't trust your husband? That's bold, considering you've just established that I'm the one with the knife, my dear."</p><p>"It's a golden blade. It's decadent. It's probably just decorative and blunt."</p><p>"Feeble," Emhyr muttered, dragging the knife slowly along Geralt's chin. "I’m about to believe this <em>bush</em> on your face is starting to appeal to you."</p><p>Against his will, Geralt grinned at Emhyr's reflection in the mirror. </p><p>"It seems to bother you. That's quite entertaining."</p><p>Emhyr raised his brows. </p><p>"In this game, I think I have the better hand," he returned. "I've got the knife."</p><p>Slowly, the blade continued to scrape along Geralt's neck, and the latter had to admit that Emhyr was indeed handling it skillfully. He began to relax, trying to see it for what it ultimately was: a courtesy of his spouse. Anyway, he didn't understand why he had such a strange feeling about it. Maybe it was because his medallion felt unusually warm on his bare skin. Geralt almost casually reached out a hand to touch it. Suddenly, he winced.</p><p>"You should hold still. See, now I've cut you."</p><p>Emhyr snorted disapprovingly, bent down, and wiped a tiny drop of blood from Geralt's neck. </p><p>"What is it now?"</p><p>Geralt shook his head. </p><p>"This feels strange. Like it's vibrating, and then it's not. It's never done that before."</p><p>"Hmm," Emhyr mused as he continued to work on Geralt's beard with concentration. "What do you think it means?"</p><p>Geralt still held the medallion with one hand. His gaze was absent as he answered, "I don't know. Maybe it's..."</p><p>He didn't get to complete his sentence. Suddenly, Geralt rolled his eyes into the back of his head, stiffened, then slid off the chair. Emhyr pulled the razor away just in time. </p><p>"Geralt? What is... Geralt!"</p><p>Emhyr couldn't prevent Geralt from falling, collapsing on the floor. He was immediately beside him, grabbing him by the shoulders, but now Geralt began to twitch uncontrollably. His whole body tensed up, his hands aimlessly hitting the floor. His neck stretched out; only the whites of his eyes were visible. His head began to hit the ground now, too, and Emhyr knelt beside him, placed Geralt's head in his lap – which wasn't easy, his twitching body continually threatening to slip away – and held his hands tightly. Then he yelled, "GUARDS!" </p><p>—</p><p>When Triss, alerted by the guards, came rushing into the room, the sight almost chilled her to the bone. Convulsions ran through Geralt's entire body. Emhyr held his hands to prevent Geralt from hurting himself, but the sheer force of the spasms was already bloodying his heels on the stone floor. She had never seen anything like it. Instinctively, she knelt on Geralt's shins and put her hands on his chest.</p><p>"How long has this been going on?" she asked.</p><p>Emhyr seemed surprisingly calm, but by now, she had known him long enough. His voice might be serene, but the hint of worry in his eyes was unmistakable. </p><p>"Five minutes," he replied with astonishing certainty. </p><p>He had probably counted the seconds, Triss thought. She couldn't blame him. Her hands ran over Geralt's body. Invisible strands of powerful magic pierced his unconscious mind, examining the workings of his body, searching for clues.</p><p>"What happened before?" </p><p>"A shave, nothing more," Emhyr replied tersely. </p><p>As if that were an expected answer, the sorceress nodded and took Geralt's restless head between her hands. In extreme concentration, she narrowed her eyes, then snapped them open in surprise. </p><p>"That's strange," she murmured. "It feels like poison, but then again, it's not. Maybe a spell to strengthen... What else did you do? Was anything different than usual?"</p><p>Emhyr frowned. </p><p>"I wouldn't know..."</p><p>"The razor," she interrupted him. "Where is it?"</p><p>A shadow crossed Emhyr's face, and he looked around quickly.</p><p>"The blade was new," he replied. "It fell to the ground when.... it must be here somewhere."</p><p>Sure enough, he spied the razor he had dropped, right next to the overturned chair. Reflexively, he reached out a hand for it, but Triss immediately snapped at him, "Don't. We should get Adan."</p><p>—</p><p>The witcher, swift as ever, was summoned in no time. Although he had no idea what to expect, he did not dwell on surprise or pointless questions. He immediately went down on his knees, checking Geralt's pulse on the carotid artery. The feline bent over, pulling back Geralt’s eyelids, then looked at Triss.</p><p>"Looks like an extreme reaction to poison, but..."</p><p>She pointed to the razor on the floor with a curt movement of her head. Adan looked around quickly, noticed the dropped towel, took it, and picked up the knife with it. </p><p>"I touched that, and I'm fine," Emhyr broke the silence. </p><p>"Then it's something with the blade, but better safe than sorry," Adan returned. </p><p>He held the razor close to his eyes, and his gaze became somewhat absent. Nobody knew what he was doing, but suddenly he stuck out his tongue, pressing the knife against it. Triss hissed his name, yet he held out his other hand, an unusual gesture that signaled her to let him. When he finally looked at the sorceress, his eyes had a strange gleam – at least it seemed that way to her. </p><p>"Definitely some kind of poison," he said. "But that's not all."</p><p>Triss nodded.</p><p>"I think it's a spell. For enhancement, maybe. A double safeguard? A bit much for a simple razor."</p><p>"Now, it's not that simple," Adan replied. "I, for one, do not own a pure gold razor. So it's yours?" he turned to Emhyr. </p><p>The latter suddenly raised his head as if a startling thought had occurred to him.</p><p>"It was one of the wedding gifts.... this morning, my knife broke, and I sent Meredid to get a new one. He said he remembered seeing one among those things – the gifts are still being cataloged, but it caught his eye."</p><p>"A strange wedding gift," Triss said grimly. </p><p>"That's what I said, but he replied that, on the contrary, it was particularly thoughtful."</p><p>"Not merely because of its value," Adan said, immediately catching on. "But because it is especially personal. Something that would touch the Emperor on a daily basis. Kind of quirky, though."</p><p>"That's more than quirky," Triss protested. </p><p>"It doesn't matter. The crucial question is who it came from," said the witcher – and he was right. </p><p>"We can examine this later," Emhyr said urgently. "I demand to know how we are going to help Geralt."</p><p>Geralt's erratic movements had slowed a little, but his spasms had by no means ceased. Adan pulled a vial from his pockets. Of course, even at this late hour, he was fully equipped. Never was he without his armor, his swords, or anything of his equipment at all, even in the palace. </p><p>Triss held him back.</p><p>"We don't know what will happen if you use one of your potions."</p><p>"Because of the spell? We don't know what kind of magic it is either," he returned. "And the poisoning is clear. We can start with low doses."</p><p>"He's not a lab rat. That could be dangerous."</p><p>"Doing nothing seems more dangerous. And apparently, your magic can't dissolve the other one either."</p><p>"Not right away," Triss replied defensively.</p><p>Emhyr had had enough of this strangely familiar-looking repartee. </p><p>"You can argue later," he said sharply. "I've seen the effects of this potion often enough. Let him try it."</p><p>Adan jumped up, telling Emhyr, "We need to switch places for a minute. You should continue to hold his hands down."</p><p>Apparently, he had hit just the right note; at any rate, Emhyr asked nothing further, letting go of Geralt's hands, retreating, and gently resting his head on the floor. Then he slid to the side and put his hands on Geralt's wrists again. Adan knelt behind Geralt's head, placing his fingers on his chin and jaw in a peculiar way, and then began to squeeze them both. Adan let go with one hand, pulled the cork out of the vial with his teeth, and carefully dribbled a small amount into Geralt's now open mouth. </p><p>Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Suddenly, the room became very quiet, except for the strange sound of Geralt's twitching body grazing the floor, regardless of their attempts to hold him down. Slowly, the convulsions subsided until he finally lay still. </p><p>But beyond that, nothing happened: the dark veins that had emerged at his neck and other parts of his body had not changed, his eyes remained closed, and he did not respond to Triss' soft words as she leaned over him. </p><p>"I could increase the dose," Adan suggested, but there was an air of uncertainty in his voice. Something was happening here that was beyond everyone's control.</p><p>Triss shook her head. </p><p>"We have to find out what kind of poison caused this. And what spell."</p><p>"That means you can't do anything for him?"</p><p>Emhyr's voice had a piercing tone to it. He was still clutching Geralt's wrists, although the latter was now lying perfectly still. </p><p>"Poison needs an antidote," Triss explained. "Healing magic also knows an universal counteragent, but I would have to prepare it yet. However, since the potion didn't work, I'm afraid that won't get us very far. Mostly because of the apparent link to a spell. That's why we need to examine the blade..."</p><p>"...and identify the poison, and the spell," Adan finished her sentence. "To make a specific antidote. If we work together, it will be faster. I'll find out where the knife came from."</p><p>"In the meantime, we'll try the conventional way; we'll make a decoction, try poultices and a sweating cure.... Someone has to be with him at all times."</p><p>"We'll take turns," Adan said. </p><p>"I'll stay here," Emhyr suddenly interjected. "I'll stay with him; you can show me what to do."</p><p>Triss glanced at him.</p><p>"This will be a lengthy and unpleasant business," she replied. "It could take us several days to make the antidote. I'm sure it's not life-threatening, at least not for him – in a way, we should be glad you didn't use the knife yourself. Still, it's going to be difficult."</p><p>"Is that supposed to scare me off? He's my husband," Emhyr said coldly. </p><p> "You have other responsibilities as well," the sorceress reminded him. </p><p>It was her duty to tell him, and her status gave her the unique right to do so, but neither did she like doing it nor did he want to hear it. It was unusually clear on Emhyr's face. </p><p>"I have a whole staff of advisors," he objected, not without a hint of defiance in his voice that no one had ever heard from him. "I'm not disappearing. Still, there's nothing that can't be postponed or delegated."</p><p>Those were unfamiliar words coming out of his mouth, but Triss couldn't say she didn't understand his motives. Yet, she said, "I can send for Ciri."</p><p>"Absolutely not," Emhyr replied sharply. "She will make a tremendous fuss, and in that condition, she is no help to me."</p><p>What he actually meant, Triss suddenly realized, was that he himself was just incapable of concentrating on anything other than his spouse's well-being. But he couldn't possibly admit that. </p><p>"Fine, but we'll still take turns. Even you have to eat and sleep," she decided. </p><p>—</p><p>Together they laid Geralt on the bed, and Triss inculcated Emhyr to keep him warm, have water ready in case he woke up (not wanting to predict as to when that would be), and otherwise just watch him. But Emhyr would not have required this advice; he did not take his eyes off him. He felt an unfamiliar nervousness rising within him. Often enough, he had seen Geralt wounded and without consciousness, but this seemed so uncertain: neither did they know who had done this to them, nor what the ultimate consequences would be. Especially with Geralt, he thought, not without anger, because obviously, the poison had hit the wrong person. Not for the first time. </p><p>So he kept busy to distract himself from such thoughts. He had the fireplace lit, although it was no longer cold enough for it, covered Geralt with two blankets in accordance with the advice of his court sorceress and simply waited – for some change. Emhyr didn't know if he should believe that one could sweat out poison, and probably that was simply an additional safeguard, and yet he wanted to use every means at his disposal – knowing that those same means were limited. </p><p>And that was probably the worst part of it. Over time, he had acquired amazing skills in dressing wounds, and he knew how to relieve pain. He didn't like any of it, but he'd be damned if he was going to tell Geralt how to live his life. Both had agreed on that some time ago. They circumnavigated some issues in their lives with the extraordinary certainty of seasoned sailors, without harm. Emhyr was sure they would be able to handle this as well. He sat down next to Geralt on the bed, stroked one of those unruly strands of hair out of his face, and took his right hand in his own. Slowly, he traced the engraving of Geralt's ring with his forefinger. That was what made him stay, no matter what.</p><p>Night fell, and while shadows of candles and fires flitted across the walls, Emhyr held Geralt's hand and watched his face. He appeared to be asleep, but his features lacked their usual relaxed quality. This had been going on for many hours now, and while nothing had changed on the outside, it was obvious that he was getting more restless. The fingers Emhyr held trembled every now and then, and the muscles in his face flinched as if he were in a profound yet unpleasant dream. Sweat had long been standing on his forehead, which was not surprising given the heat in the room. Emhyr himself accepted the warmth stoically. He would not admit any weakness, he never had, and he definitely would not do so now. Still, it felt unfortunate that he couldn't do anything. He observed, but there was nothing to see. </p><p>It was already past midnight, and Emhyr had gotten up to walk around so he wouldn't get tired. His mind was rattling with a list of things he would turn over to his advisory staff the next morning; a dozen items to do on his schedule, documents he could sign even as he sat here, and the like. And yet, he noticed instantly when Geralt opened his eyes. Immediately he was at the bedside, sitting on the edge, reaching for his hands. </p><p>Geralt's gaze was unsteady as he tried to sit up, and confused when he realized he failed right away. </p><p>"Stop it," Emhyr said softly, letting go of his hands and gently pushing him back. Geralt's chest was wet with sweat; he had somehow managed to slip off the covers in the few minutes when Emhyr hadn't been looking. "Just lie still. Everything is fine." </p><p>It was one of the few lies he had ever told his husband, but the circumstances probably justified it. </p><p>"We fixed that gap in the wall a year ago, but it broke again," Geralt said. </p><p>His voice sounded clear, but his words made no sense to Emhyr. It did not matter.</p><p>"You can fix it again," he replied, hoping that his voice alone would affect him, as it often did. </p><p>At least Geralt no longer tried to sit up. He seemed to become a bit calmer, although still confused. His eyes had a strange gleam, and his pupils flickered like those of a drug addict. </p><p>"Ciri needs to practice the feint again," he said, and that stung Emhyr a little. Clearly, Geralt was very, very far in the past. He wondered if he remembered him in this condition. Certainly, he didn't even recognize him. </p><p>Carefully, Emhyr leaned against the headboard of the bed, retook Geralt's hands, and replied, "I suppose she should."</p><p>Geralt's lids fluttered, then he closed his eyes again, but his sleep remained fitful. </p><p>—</p><p>At some point, Emhyr must have dozed off, too, because the next thing that entered his consciousness was his aching back and the fact that Triss was standing over Geralt, wrapping fragrant sheets over his thighs.</p><p>"Ah," she said as soon as Emhyr noticed her, "it's good that you had some sleep. Can't have been much though, you should lie down again, a little more comfortably perhaps."</p><p>"Any news?" he asked as he stretched and glanced at Geralt's face. For now, he lay still, but his muscles still seemed tense. </p><p>"Some ingredients are missing for the decoction; we will get them in the morning. Then the protocol officer will also arrive, who manages the records of the wedding gifts."</p><p>"The feline could well have kicked him out of bed to get this information," Emhyr muttered.</p><p>Triss glanced at him.</p><p>"Don't exaggerate," she said. "It's only a matter of a few hours, and we won't get anywhere without the ingredients anyway."</p><p>"But until then, Geralt won't get any better," he replied heatedly. </p><p>"But neither will he get any worse," the sorceress returned calmly. </p><p>As for the rest of the night, she was to be proven right. Emhyr was careful not to fall asleep again, and he stoked the fire himself when it was about to go out toward morning. The heat in the room was unbearable now, and he had rolled up his sleeves. Meanwhile, Geralt had additionally developed a fever, which Triss had described as "excellent". Emhyr, however, could find nothing <em>excellent</em> about the sight of his husband lying there drenched in sweat, occasionally clenching his hands as if he were still trying to fight invisible forces even in his sleep. His cheeks, usually so pale, were reddened more by the fever than by the warmth in the room; just another expression of the unnaturalness of the whole situation. </p><p>At some point, he had begun to utter soft noises, a strange mixture of incoherent words mixed with something between sighs and groans. Emhyr had taken his place next to Geralt again and grasped his hands, vaguely hoping that he would feel the touch and calm down. He barely heard when the door opened. Adan was basically very quiet, yet Emhyr wondered how much time had passed. Had he been about to fall asleep again?</p><p>Silently the witcher stepped closer, pulled up Geralt's eyelids to check his pupils, and felt his pulse, but neither told him anything new. </p><p>"He seems stable, but we need the antidote as soon as possible."</p><p>"Do you now know what poison it was?"</p><p>"We're working on it. We'll know more shortly. The antidote is still missing a few basic ingredients; we've sent someone out to get them. However, only when we know what poison it is can it be finished. But we now know who the gift came from."</p><p>Emhyr sat up straight and ran a hand through his hair. He was aware that he might not be particularly presentable, but that was unimportant. </p><p>"From whom?"</p><p>Adan shrugged.</p><p>"A Nilfgaardian nobleman, a minor duke or something. Just being brought in for questioning."</p><p>When Adan told him the name, it didn't ring a bell. </p><p>"I should be there for the interrogation."</p><p>"You should get rest. Not here, if possible," the witcher replied.</p><p>"I suppose this suggestion comes from my court sorceress?"</p><p>"And from your security advisor."</p><p>"I'd say he's overstepping his authority."</p><p>Adan tilted his head.</p><p>"Is it not a matter of security if the Emperor overexerts himself?"</p><p>"Don't overdo it," Emhyr said, and the authority in his voice was unmistakable. "Come back when there is actually something new, or until I have one of you summoned. In the meantime, I will take care of my husband. Understood?"</p><p>Adan remained unimpressed. Naturally. But he nodded and replied, "I will tell the court sorceress so."</p><p>He turned to leave. Quietly, Emhyr said, "You will not be spared her scolding." </p><p>It almost sounded like an apology. </p><p>"Well, neither will you," Adan said lightly before leaving. </p><p>—</p><p>After a while, Emhyr began to reconsider his decision. It wasn't because he was getting tired – he had enough experience in staying awake for various motives. But because it became increasingly difficult to assess Geralt's condition. His restlessness had increased to a point where Emhyr feared that his erratic movements would once more turn into terrible spasms. Triss had advised him to bring the fever down a bit and forgo the fire since this treatment was not working. She continued to try herbal poultices, but even there, she had not been very confident. The things didn't last long anyway since Geralt tossed and turned too much. </p><p>Emhyr counted on the fact that they would soon find out what this strange linking of a spell with poison was all about. There seemed to be no improvement in Geralt's condition, and even if his court sorceress was convinced that it was not a life-threatening situation, Emhyr was not entirely confident. It was perhaps all too easy for him to forget that he still had a witcher before him. But Geralt had told him things that would have chilled anyone to the bone. He had told things that were neither stories nor legends, and they had spoken of a great deal of suffering. Surviving was a doubtful gift; he knew that very well. Emhyr didn't know if Geralt was in pain; he seemed very far away now. But the possibility alone gnawed at him. He didn't understand why anyone would go to the trouble of securing such a simple object – which he had only used at all by chance – with so much hatred. The poison alone would undoubtedly have killed him. It made no sense. </p><p>Emhyr had sat down on the bed again, he had begun to stroke Geralt's hair gently. Usually this calmed them both. Geralt still felt hot, he almost appeared to be glowing, and nothing Emhyr could do seemed to change that. Carefully, he ran a moistened cloth over Geralt’s parched lips and his forehead. Geralt's face twisted briefly, but that might mean that he felt the touch as much as that it disturbed him in the middle of a dream. Emhyr imagined that these were not pleasant dreams, but he forbade himself such thoughts. Worrying wouldn't help Geralt either.</p><p>As if to distract himself, he slowly stroked Geralt's hot cheeks with his fingertips. What came next happened so quickly that it would be difficult for him to recall it later. </p><p>Geralt's right hand shot forward and grabbed his wrist. His eyes opened, but they seemed to look right through Emhyr with a dull gleam. He sat up, and the grip tightened painfully. </p><p>"Geralt," Emhyr said softly, reassuringly, but he should have known better. </p><p>He realized what was going on at the same moment he made his next mistake. Emhyr raised his other hand to grasp Geralt by the shoulder – a harmless touch meant to let his husband know that it was <em>him</em>, that he was here, that all was well, even if it wasn't. Geralt jumped up, pushing Emhyr forward without letting go of his wrist. When his feet touched the ground, he swayed briefly, but it didn't stop him. Yes, Emhyr knew what was going on, he really should have known better. At that moment, Geralt behaved no differently than a wounded wolf snatching at the hand that was trying to help him – because his instinct told him that such a thing never happened. </p><p>Actually, they had left that behind for long. Emhyr had learned his lesson not to startle the sleeping witcher, and the latter had, at some point, learned to put trust above instinct, at least when they were together. However, Geralt was so very out of it, so very unaware that he did not recognize him or his surroundings. The wolf's instincts said fight or flight, and the grip on Emhyr's hand told him that he had chosen fight. </p><p>"Geralt," he tried again, his voice a sole assurance that all was well, although that seemed a massive lie, "let go. Please."</p><p>Not even the softness of his tone, reserved for special occasions known only to Geralt, or the word that so rarely crossed his lips, triggered anything in the witcher. Geralt looked around frantically as if searching for an exit – flight, after all, Emhyr thought fleetingly – but since he didn't really seem to register what was happening, he turned back to Emhyr. The latter was doing his best not to look threatening, and although Geralt was only holding his wrist, he knew that one movement would be enough to break it. </p><p>"You're safe," he said, his voice expressing confidence he didn't feel. </p><p>It seemed like the biggest mistake to even approach him. Suddenly, Geralt's second hand was on his neck, and Emhyr’s free hand lay over it in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure. His back hit the wall and his breath caught. Dark spots began to dance before his eyes. His mind demanded oxygen as much as his lungs, but still, a thought flashed in him. Something Geralt had shown him, he and Ciri, they had both insisted on teaching him something he had thought was superfluous. He hadn't tried it; he had found it ridiculous – with a whole army of guards and soldiers, with two witchers and Ciri (if she was ever present) and an extremely capable sorceress, what would he know such a thing for? </p><p>And yet, some part of him could recall the knowledge now. Geralt was not standing quite securely, it was apparent. He wasn't putting any weight on his leg that had been broken twice; in stressful situations, it hurt more than usual, and he suffered from nightmares. And this was probably a particularly bad dream. Almost instinctively, Emhyr moved his right foot directly against Geralt's slightly retracted leg. He thrust in a movement that had been precisely described to him, hitting a point that had been tried to inculcate in him. </p><p>Geralt did not fall, the kick had not been strong enough, but surprise and force threw him off balance. He let go of Emhyr's neck, but not his wrist, and Emhyr tried to free himself. He pulled, Geralt faltered, and Emhyr tried to kick again. His only chance seemed to be to throw Geralt entirely off balance. Only now did it occur to him to yell for the guards outside the door. Once they were in the room, he could order them to get the sorceress, and if they couldn't restrain Geralt, the other witcher as well.... He stepped forward, but this time Geralt seemed to have sensed his movement, and he pulled him to the side. Emhyr stumbled, but because Geralt was still holding his wrist, they both swayed. Geralt pushed him off with force, but he was too weak to stay on his feet any longer, and in the fall, he pulled Emhyr with him. Geralt's confused face was the last thing Emhyr saw; then he banged his head on the edge of the bed. </p><p>—</p><p>He came to on the chaise longue in the salon. A damp cloth lay on his forehead, which he pushed aside almost angrily. There wasn't even a bump to be felt. The woman knew exactly how much he hated her magical healing, at least on himself. Emhyr slowly stood up, walked to the open door, and leaned against the frame, feeling slightly dizzy. Merigold and the feline were standing in the bedroom. The sorceress noticed him immediately.</p><p>"For goodness sake, can't one of you lie down for a while?"</p><p>Emhyr ignored her tone and asked, "What of him?"</p><p>Geralt lay in bed again, not moving.</p><p>"He hurt himself and you," Triss replied angrily. "From now on, you won't stay alone. Lie back down; you had a laceration, you'll still be dizzy. I'll go and finish the antidote. Adan can tell you what we learned."</p><p>"Geralt will not hear what happened, just so we're clear," Emhyr said seriously. </p><p>Triss narrowed her eyes. </p><p>"Stop blaming yourself. It was pure coincidence that Geralt got the poison, and an accident that it had such an effect on him."</p><p>She noticed that Emhyr was about to say something, but she interrupted him immediately, though much more gently.</p><p>"I agree that he doesn't need to know what happened. I don't think he will remember either. But you are both seasoned enough not to let guilt define you all the time."</p><p>"You still have amazing ideas about the duties of the court sorceress," Emhyr countered, but he didn't sound upset.</p><p>Triss shrugged, but as she walked past him, she said quietly, "But I know her rights pretty well."</p><p>She left him to Adan, who, as he noticed, was holding a small vial.</p><p>"What is that?"</p><p>Adan placed the empty vial on the small table next to the bed and replied, "Just a sedative. He knocked out two guards before I arrived. You might have to muddy the waters – I mean, if the Emperor's consort attacks him and then lashes out on the guards, it might stir up the rumor mill quite a bit."  </p><p>Emhyr only snorted contemptuously – he definitely didn't have the nerve for that now. He stepped closer, pulled a chair, and sat down at the bed. Geralt now looked reasonably peaceful; he could only hope that it stayed that way. </p><p>"Doesn't the remedy cause any complications?" he asked.</p><p>"Frankly, we can't know for sure," Adan replied a touch too honestly for Emhyr's taste. </p><p>"But you know more about the poison now?"</p><p>"Oh, yes. It wasn't effortless to find out because the spell kind of overrode it. I'm still wondering what purpose..."</p><p>"The poison," Emhyr reminded him impatiently. </p><p>Adan scratched his head, one of the few gestures he had grown accustomed to that clearly showed he was unsure. </p><p>"It's a strange mixture of easily obtainable toxins. Even ratsbane was among them, but also a veritable quantity of mushrooms and... well, flowers, like nightshade plants."</p><p>"What exactly is strange about that?"</p><p>"All of these are things that can be obtained from herb stores or alchemists, or you can simply gather them yourself from nature."</p><p>"So the perpetrator knew what they were doing."</p><p>"Not necessarily; they just knew where to get the poisons," Adan objected. "I'll have the herbalists and other stores in the area questioned, but I suspect they didn't <em>buy</em> any of it. The selection is pretty random. There were also a few re-identifiable kinds of grass in the mix and one or two non-toxic substances that weren't carriers or otherwise served a practical purpose."</p><p>"And that gives us what insight?"</p><p>Adan shrugged. </p><p>"That's the question. I don't know yet."</p><p>A long silence followed. It might have lasted for hours; Emhyr had long since lost his sense of time. He continued to sit there and, perhaps in a fit of defiance, had reached for Geralt's hands again. It still soothed him to clasp those fingers tightly, to stroke over them with his own, hoping that somehow, sometime Geralt would notice. </p><p>Adan had been standing there leaning against the wall for what seemed like an eternity. It was almost strange that he, who could nearly never keep his mouth shut, was so quiet. He held a worn, tattered little book in his hand, in which he wrote something down from time to time. Whenever he lifted his eyes, he glanced briefly at Geralt's motionless figure; then seemed utterly lost in thought once again. </p><p>Suddenly, he pushed himself off the wall, noisily slammed his booklet shut, and shouted, "I've got it."</p><p>Already he was on his way to the door when Emhyr called after him, "What?"</p><p>Adan turned and looked at him as if noticing him for the first time. </p><p>"I know who made the poison. Or at least how I can find him. It's someone from the palace. I have to go, but you shouldn't be alone. I'll let the guards know; Triss won't be ready yet..."</p><p>"Don't you dare," Emhyr said sharply, but the witcher was already out the door. </p><p>—</p><p>Emhyr threw out all the guards, even if it probably meant incurring the holy wrath of his sorceress. But since she did not show herself, he assumed that the production of the antidote was proceeding. He desperately needed good news now, progress in many ways. He needed the certainty that something would change because every minute that passed seemed to bring Geralt suffering. Emhyr knew Merigold would have objected; she would have said that no one could understand what was going on inside him. But Emhyr did not sense it that way. He felt a hot forehead when he stroked over it. Saw closed eyelids twitching as if in a dream. Squeezed hands that did not return his pressure. </p><p>How long could anybody, any <em>witcher</em>, possibly resist a mixture of strange poisons? All that remained for him was the hope that the antidote would have the promised effect, even though the unknown spell had mixed with the poison. As he watched Geralt, he thought about something they both knew: that there would always be unknown threats hovering over them both. That peace was fragile not only in the empire but also in their lives. They had agreed to brave the coming storms together against all odds. Their connection was unique and perhaps the strangest imaginable, but it worked. It was the best thing that had happened to him in infinite years, on so many levels, and he knew that Geralt felt the same way. Just maybe not now, because now he might feel nothing at all, and that hurt.</p><p>Time passed agonizingly slowly. Minutes flowed into hours, and everything around him became blurry. Therefore, it was probably no wonder that Emhyr flinched when Adan suddenly stormed into the room. To be more precise, it was as usual: from one second to the next, he was there, as if one had simply blinked a heartbeat too long and missed his appearance. </p><p>His interim silence forgotten, he immediately sputtered, "Triss isn't here yet? Damn, so we still don't know anything about the spell? Anyway, now we know who poisoned the razor. You'll never guess."</p><p> "I don't usually have to guess," Emhyr replied with enough disapproval in his voice that even Adan caught it. </p><p>"Well, I suppose not," he returned. "It's not mysterious at all, either. An emissary, which explains why there were so many different poisons – he started collecting during his missions. Seems to have collected the stuff like some resentment built up inside him. His motive..."</p><p>"The wedding?" asked Emhyr, although it didn't sound like a question.</p><p>"I guess that was the last straw," the witcher confirmed. </p><p>"How strange that my security advisor could miss this," Emhyr said. As usual, his sarcasm didn't catch on with Adan; would he never learn?</p><p>"This bloke has been with the court longer than I have," was the calm reply. "And you realize that human emotions will always find a way to overcome the best security measures."</p><p>"Of which you are the best example," Emhyr returned snappily, even though he knew Adan was right. </p><p>"Last time I checked, I wasn't human."</p><p>Emhyr raised his brows in surprise.</p><p>"Funny."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>They stared at each other for a moment, and Emhyr thought that Geralt would definitely have found that hilarious. </p><p>A moment later, Triss stood in the room, and the first thing Emhyr noticed was the vial in her hand. Slowly he stood up. She saw his look and nodded.</p><p>"I am ready. But you two will never believe who caused the spell."</p><p>"Another one with a long-held grudge?" muttered Emhyr. </p><p>Triss looked at him in surprise. </p><p>"On the contrary. The same Nilfgaardian noble who made the gift turned to a local wizard. It wasn't to curse the knife. He asked for a harmless enchantment. What it does is almost ridiculous: it embellishes the gift, so to speak, making it more attractive. This is also the reason why Meredid immediately noticed the razor and why he remembered it. Spell and poison were both of similar quality and strength and mixed in such a way that identification took its time."</p><p>"We should check if this noble and the emissary knew each other," Adan replied, updating Triss on his discoveries.</p><p>"I don't think so," the sorceress said afterward. "The nobleman wanted the spell to rise in favor. His rank and reputation are a bit shady. We could clarify how the emissary got the knife, but once he saw it, the spell will have made him think it was a good object for his vengeful desires."</p><p>"Pure coincidence, then," Emhyr said musingly.</p><p>"Just as unpredictable as emotions," Adan agreed. </p><p>"Let's deal with this in more detail later," Triss urged. "I have an antidote, and I'm pretty sure it works."</p><p>Pretty sure was not enough for Emhyr, but he said nothing. Filled with tension, he watched Adan take the potion and administer it to Geralt. </p><p>"How soon will this take effect?" he asked.</p><p>"I hope very quickly," she replied, basically voicing his thoughts. "And with no side effects," she added.</p><p>"You mean as opposed to witcher's potions?" Adan remarked as he set down the empty vial. "It might have looked worse without it."</p><p>"I don't think it compares."</p><p>"You started it, after all."</p><p>"Shut up, both of you," Emyhr said without raising his voice. </p><p>Adan and Triss gave each other an almost guilt-ridden look, but at least it caught. For a while, everyone just looked at Geralt, spellbound. But for a while - nothing happened. </p><p>Emhyr's impatience increased to new, unimagined heights. Triss nervously plucked at her fingernails. Only Adan still seemed unimpressed. He had gone down on his knees beside the bed, two fingers permanently on Geralt's carotid artery, his gaze highly concentrated. </p><p>The silence in the room became more and more oppressive. Emhyr gave his sorceress a look, which she avoided. </p><p>"Look," Adan said suddenly. </p><p>He pointed to the protruding veins on Geralt's neck. Slowly, very slowly, they lost their unnaturally dark color, receding like snow melting in the sun. Wherever on his body this visible testimony of the poison had formed, the same thing happened. Triss put a hand on Geralt's forehead, then nodded.</p><p>"Almost over," she murmured. </p><p>"Normal pulse," Adan confirmed after a while. </p><p>Both stepped back, but still, all seemed to hold their breath together. The tender sprout of hope that had formed not only in Emhyr had become a real seed. </p><p>Shortly after that, Geralt opened his eyes. When he saw them all standing there, he jerked back, straightened up on his elbows, and spluttered, confused as if after a long slumber, "Have I overslept? Did I miss something? Why are you all standing there? Shit, my head… did I forget that we got wasted? What are you all looking at! Damn, I have to pee."</p><p>Triss involuntarily started giggling. </p><p>Adan said, clearly relieved, "What an idiot."</p><p>Emhyr looked into Geralt's puzzled face, and this time he did not hold back his smile, which only increased the latter's irritation. </p><p>"Careful, you're insulting the Emperor's consort. However, it is true."</p><p>How peculiar, that he somehow sounded pleased.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Into the abyss I will run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Here's an unfinished thing that has been haunting me for a couple of days. I just had a bit of dialogue first. While I soon realized that this could actually become bigger, I also found out that Geralt would need to find some kind of trick to solve this problem. But for several reasons I didn't dig deeper into this. Let's just pretend everything will be fine in the end.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pain was sharp and harsh, strangely familiar, like an old acquaintance. Even as he fell, before he hit the ground, above all the noise and chaos that immediately erupted, he recognized that pain. How peculiar to recall, Emhyr thought, as he watched his blood form a puddle beneath him. The confusion around him did not seem to concern him, and the noise subsided. </p><p>Faces appeared above him, orders were yelled; there were sounds of fighting and a lot of shouting, and he was glad that all of it was getting quieter. <br/>
Finally, there was the only face that mattered. A wolf with cat eyes, sometimes golden, sometimes amber. </p><p>"My flame," Geralt said softly, and that's when Emhyr knew it was severe, and his eyes fell shut.</p><p>When he opened them again, he was almost surprised to be there still. Sounds, smells, and the feel of soft sheets told him he was in his bedroom. It was not a dream, and he was still alive, of which the pain was both warning and reminder. Geralt was there, sitting on the bed and holding his hand; how strange this was, tables turned. That seemed to be Emhyr's duty: to take care of his adventurous husband. To scold him, to calm him, to take his pain away. </p><p>It had been a long time since he had felt like this, so helpless and powerless in the face of pain. A long time since it had been his own. Now he almost did not know how to meet this foe adequately. Holding hands didn't seem to help that much, he realized. It only aided the one who wasn't lying there.</p><p>"When were you planning to tell me about this?" asked Geralt calmly. </p><p>Too calmly. He was angry, Emhyr realized. No, not necessarily angry. He seemed confused, amazed, maybe even hurt. How ironic, Emhyr thought. </p><p>"Who was it?" he asked, surprised by how normal his voice sounded. How ordinary, when nothing was ordinary.</p><p>"Don't deflect," Geralt growled, "Someone managed to ram a knife into you in the middle of the throne room, and it's only thanks to Adan that I didn't rip the guy to shreds on the spot. Don't look at me like that; yes, there's still enough of him left. We'll figure out who he is."</p><p>"Some lunatic, that's all," Emhyr replied absently. He found it unusually difficult to focus. </p><p>"No, you know who is a lunatic?"</p><p>Here it comes, Emhyr thought. It was inevitable. </p><p>"Seriously. You made a contract with Triss that she can't heal you in certain situations? What's this nonsense?"</p><p>Emhyr felt a sigh rising inside him, a strange feeling bubbling to the surface, demanding to be expelled like excess air. </p><p>"This contract has existed for a very long time," he replied. "It has been made with every sorceress, not only Merigold, but every one before her."</p><p>"Why don't I know about it?"</p><p>"You are not the court sorceress, Geralt. There's no reason you should know about it."</p><p>"No reason? You dare to tell your husband to his face that he has no right to know about such decisions?"</p><p>"The fact that certain things have altered in my life does not change this fundamental decision," Emhyr replied firmly. Solid as a rock, at least he hoped so. </p><p>"That's insane," Geralt argued. </p><p>Emhyr watched him, his beautiful, headstrong husband who had never learned not to show his emotions on his face. The tense jaw, the brows pulled sharply, his voice, somewhere between undisguised anger and fear – he was just always too emotional. Geralt was his channel, his catalyst, the manifestation of his own feelings, which encompassed far more than what he ever showed on the outside – and that was very little, for a good reason. Emhyr also felt this anger and fear. This pain, utterly different from the physical sensation that was drilling in his guts. </p><p>"This contract," Geralt continued as if giving a lecture, "says that if a severe injury is not instantly fatal, it may only be treated conventionally."</p><p>"Well? I'm still alive, so apparently, that kind of treatment is possible."</p><p>Geralt ran his hands through his hair as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, as if he were talking to a child who was on his last nerve because he just couldn't make it understand how the world worked.</p><p>"Possible," he said, "but also uncertain and dangerous. And simply unnecessary."</p><p>"Unnecessary, yes," Emhyr replied unexpectedly and with some bitterness. "I didn't expect it to end like this, of all things. "</p><p>"It doesn't end at all," Geralt disagreed. </p><p>"Geralt..."</p><p>"No. Neither like this nor otherwise. Your stubbornness is ridiculous. This can be healed in no time."</p><p>"It's not a small thing."</p><p>"It's only not a small thing if you don't do anything about it," Geralt replied heatedly. "Are you going to throw away everything you've built because of some silly aversion to magic?"</p><p>Emhyr looked at him sternly.</p><p>"I have a daughter, as you know. The realm loses nothing."</p><p>"Nothing at all?" </p><p>Geralt jumped to his feet, and as he spoke, his voice grew louder.</p><p>"And what about me? Doesn't what I lose count?"</p><p>His fists clenched, protruding knuckles so white that Emyhr could almost feel the fingernails in his own palms. Somehow, Geralt managed to calm down. He sat back down at the bed. With a firm grip, he took Emhyr's right hand in his, held it up, held the ring in front of his eyes. </p><p>"This is a promise you made," Geralt said seriously. "You think two years is enough? That's fucking selfish. You think those two years were so wonderful that they outweigh the past. As good as two decades or more because they made you forget what was before. And that's true, but not just for you. And I want more of that. I don't want it to end now, and you know very well it doesn't have to."</p><p>"Magic of this kind always comes with a price," Emhyr replied, searching Geralt's gaze. This was significant; it was important for Geralt to understand. "Keeping someone alive may have side effects that you find worse than the thought of dying. You should know that."</p><p>Oh, Geralt knew. He had experienced this kind of magic not only once. All the memories, the dark feelings, the pain that was sometimes worse than the wounds, even if they were already healed. Magic that gave so much, more than was natural, also took something. It took a piece of you and made the worst of it that was possible. Unpredictable, inevitable. To live on, even if the will to do so was strong, was not always a gift. At that moment, he understood.</p><p>"It's because of the curse," he stated, his gaze as soft as his voice, and that's what made it so hard. </p><p>There was this pain that wouldn't subside, and part of Emhyr felt he deserved it. That it was right that this feeling was boring into him, like hitting a hook into such a rigid wall, it was slow going. The wall hardly gave way, even when the plaster crumbled. He was used to hiding behind that wall, but the plaster crumbled much more quickly when he looked at his spouse. </p><p>"Back then," he explained quietly, his gaze drifting, far into the past and away from Geralt, "a long time ago, someone told me that true love could be one-sided and still have enough power. The words of the original spell could certainly be understood that way. But spells are tricky, aren't they? So all these years, no one could tell me for sure if the seed of that curse had not remained in me. Whether the sheer fact that the curse was overcome with lies and tricks mattered."</p><p>"And then what?" asked Geralt. "Do you think that would make me love you any less?"</p><p>Emhyr resented that hopeful little smile on his face. That assurance that everything would be all right if he just let him do his thing. He didn't believe in that. </p><p>"I would love myself less then," he answered sternly. "There are some things that no one wants to go back to. Things you've done. Thoughts and feelings that should never resurface. Don't you understand that this isn't about you, Geralt? What I would do to save you, no one can put into words. But I don't want you to do that. Some things aren't worth it."</p><p>Emhyr saw by his eyes that he still did not believe him. But he saw more, and that hurt almost more than the pain in his side. </p><p>"You know I could just make you," Geralt said, and as if to prove it, he snapped his fingers, a gesture meant to imply a power that was meaningless to Emhyr for a good reason. </p><p>"I know above all that you wouldn't," he replied.  </p><p>Geralt lowered his head. Then, very slowly, he withdrew his hand from Emhyr's, forgoing the impulse to stroke it one more time, and stood up. Without another word, he left the room.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I'll never wear your broken crown</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompted by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/deagle/pseuds/deagle">@deagle</a> with a <a href="https://youtu.be/sXzDu071RdQ">song</a>, this fic quickly went wild and doesn't fit to the song at all. I'd consider it a classic crime story. Duke Ghent, murdered in the library with a wrench... no, that's not what happened. See for yourself.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The man behind the desk appeared uncomfortable, skimming through some papers spread out before him on the wooden tabletop. He wasn't the only one. The protocol officer pressed the documents he was carrying tightly against his chest as if he feared that the other would snatch them out of his hands. The guy, greyed before his time, looked so grim that the thought didn't seem so far from the officer's mind. </p><p>"Are you kidding?" the man asked in a grave voice. </p><p>"I certainly would never allow myself to do that," protested the protocol officer. "But those are pending decisions you are supposed to make. Besides, the magistrate is expecting you to confirm a long-delayed judgment, and the tax collector is waiting outside."</p><p>"I'll kill him," growled the white-haired man, solid and sinewy hands clawing into the ends of the tabletop as if to tear this heirloom of Duke Ghent to pieces. </p><p>"The tax collector?" the protocol officer asked in horror, taking a step back. </p><p>"My <em>husband</em>," the other replied, and the official thought that, for all his loyalty to the empire, perhaps this was an understandable reaction. Thoughts are free. </p>
<hr/><p>Geralt knew exactly how all this had started. In bed, of course, because whenever Emhyr wanted something from him that he could be sure Geralt wouldn't truly agree with, he would make his suggestions... well. After sex. <em>Fantastic</em> sex. He was damn good at smothering inevitable protest in kisses and at exploiting Geralt's afterward mood. The latter recalled that particular <em>suggestion</em>. </p><p>They had lain there, fulfilled and exhausted, Emhyr brushing hair from Geralt’s face tenderly, casually remarking, "There's something I need you to do."</p><p>Geralt had sensed that his fate was sealed at that moment, but upon hearing what it was all about, he'd still reeled off his defiant routine – knowing full well that resistance was futile. When it came to these things, he was inferior to the Emperor, who knew some subtle ways to remind him that he was his spouse. And the latter knew very well that there were a few things that Geralt particularly detested, including politics, which is why that was a topic they had – strangely cleverly – excluded from their shared life from the very beginning. </p><p>"There's this duchy," Emhyr had said, "a mere province, unimportant vassal state, you know." Geralt had refrained from pointing out that he <em>didn't</em> know because he didn't <em>care.</em> He had been smart enough not to say such things because that would have earned him either a little lecture or a disapproving look, and he hadn't wanted either. </p><p>"Not far from Ofir's borders, one of the few provinces that engage in occasional trade without giving us any significant gain in knowledge about the southern lands," Emhyr had continued, and sensing that a lesson was about to ensue after all, Geralt had sighed and demanded that he get to the point. </p><p>The point was that the regent, Duke Ghent, had died suddenly in his prime. Such things happened; however (unsurprisingly), Emhyr had informants at this supposedly insignificant court who complained that things were not above board. Still, information from such a distance leaked slowly and not always reliably. The distance was certainly relevant because the farther a regent thought he was from the capital, the greater might his desire grow to do things his way. </p><p>At this point, however, an unrelenting and incredibly tedious litany had followed, the essence of which seemed to be that a visit by the imperial consort to the distant province would serve several functions. Geralt, who had already half fallen asleep by then (because it was damn pleasant to lie in those arms and listen to that voice, even if he wasn't listening at all), had been startled back up at the point when the details of that visit came up. Emhyr had uttered some lofty words and complicated reasoning that essentially boiled down to this: Geralt was to temporarily act as the official representative of the Duke, who regrettably had neither wife nor offspring, to show that the Empire cared even about the hindmost dump (admittedly, Emhyr had put it somewhat differently). At the same time, he was supposed to find out if there was any truth in the rumors about a non-natural death of the Duke. This was supposed to serve as proof that such a thing would not be tolerated but, on the contrary, would be severely punished. </p><p>Geralt had hardly been able to argue against it all, so it had come as it had to come: silly clothes, a hated portal, and already the imperial consort was an official emissary of Nilfgaard.</p>
<hr/><p>Geralt had found this idea idiotic at the time, and nothing had changed. What his dear husband had not told him was that his function here was by no means purely representative. This stick of a guy would take care of that; the nervous linnet with the stack of papers in his hand, who also expected Geralt to take care of the pile of scrolls on the desk. Moreover, he had been advised (by the very husband who was always persuasive when it benefited him) not to show up at court in armor, equipped with swords. As if, just because he wore Nilfgaardian clothes tailored to his body, he didn't seem like a man who would rip them off without hesitation to start a riot. </p><p>At any rate, the protocol officer seemed to think so as he stood there, almost crawling into the wall, looking at the suddenly protruding vein on imperial consort's forehead. No, the man was not what the official had expected – although, of course, word had spread even down here, to the southernmost tip of the empire, that the Emperor had married a witcher. But witchers had hardly ever strayed into these parts of the continent; that's why it wasn't easy to bring together legends, expectations, and facts. </p><p>However, the facts were indisputable that the Emperor had sent a witcher to solve problems that had nothing to do with any monsters, and that was what these mutants were doing, wasn't it? It was also a fact that it was not for the official to judge. His task was to bring this tall, scarred rake up to date on the duties of the duchy, but the latter didn't seem particularly interested. He had stood up (the officer had backed away a bit more, still clutching the papers tightly), scowled at the stack of documents on the desk, and then sat down on the <em>tabletop</em>. </p><p>"I assume the Duke is already buried?" asked Geralt.</p><p>The protocol officer wrinkled his nose. "Duke Ghent deceased three weeks ago," he replied indignantly. "In our climes, a quick burial is the custom for a reason."</p><p>The witcher gave the man a look as if he wanted to burn him with his eyes (and the papers on the table as well). For all the officer knew – and it wasn't much – that might be possible. Maybe the witcher was just another form of magician. Perhaps his way of dealing with monsters was like dealing with unpleasant tasks, destroying, burning, demolishing... The officer wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and tried to focus. </p><p>"Even in this climate, there should be enough left to tell if he's been poisoned," the witcher suddenly said, and it sounded like a threat. In the end, the official considered it that way. Was this guy trying to <em>dig up</em> the Duke, the great sun rest his soul?</p><p>"The tax collector," the officer said feebly.</p><p>The witcher frowned. "What's he got to do with it?"</p><p>"He's waiting. Outside the door."</p><p>The witcher snorted. "How big is this duchy?"</p><p>The protocol officer blinked. What a question. He sounded offended when he answered, "A, I want to say, stately provincial capital, prestigious for its jewelers. About a dozen villages, a few hermitages. With all due respect, sir, we may be His Imperial Majesty's most distant court from the capital, but there have never been any complaints about our annual – <em>punctual</em> – tributes."</p><p>"Tributes in what form?" asked the witcher, gesturing to the door with a nod of his head. "The tax collector, let him in."</p><p>The official sent a push prayer to heaven and opened the door. </p>
<hr/><p>For the next half hour, Geralt stoically endured <em>(dead inside)</em> a monologue about the Duchy's mineral resources. The only one who actually listened spellbound was the protocol officer. A strange guy. Nervous, of course, because Geralt's visit was so official, but there was a tug in the back of his head that indicated either the onset of a headache – which a witcher was not usually prone to – or instinct. The way the skinny schmuck wrapped his long fingers around the papers. His blushed ears (who blushed at the <em>ears</em>?). The plucking at the ends of the scrolls he held as if it were his life to defend them. </p><p>Perhaps this was somehow paranoid, and Geralt wondered why Emhyr hadn't sent Adan (who could handle paranoia much better) to investigate right away. He would have eaten his way through the kitchen, probably learned half a dozen secrets in the process, actually dug up the Duke in the end, and within two days, the matter would have been settled. But, alas. Politics, Geralt thought bitterly. Maybe it <em>was</em> just a headache in the end. In any case, he was expected to approach the matter with <em>diplomacy</em>. Oh, he would really kill Emhyr. While he was thinking up some interesting ways, which oddly enough turned into rather frivolous thoughts rather quickly, he half-heartedly listened to the tax collector. </p><p>He took from the latter's words that the Duchy might be small, but it had plenty of raw materials, such as copper and ore, and especially silver. This flowed abundantly from here to the capital – in fact, a large part of the Duchy taxes consisted of mined mineral resources. Of course, one would have to cross-check reports, but Geralt could well imagine that on the long way from here to Nilfgaard, a part of the cargo was lost every now and then. Or was diverted beforehand.</p><p>He sent the tax collector away and asked the protocol officer, "What is the succession plan for the Duke?"</p><p>The official put on a sorrowful face. "Unfortunately, there are no children, and his wife died of a fever years ago. Frankly speaking, as far as the family tree lineage is concerned, we urgently need support from the imperial palace. Duke Ghent was distantly related to His Imperial Majesty. However, even the fifth-degree relatives of a collateral line already own lands, and all of them live far away."</p><p>Geralt, still slouching on the desk, said astutely, "Meaning there will be an interim government, probably made up of close advisers, aldermen, that sort of thing. Until the palace decides who will be officially appointed as successor. Which may take time."</p><p>"That's right."</p><p>"Fine," Geralt said, jumping up (sweeping some of the papers off the desk, which the officer didn't like) and adding, "then there are plenty of suspects."</p><p>"Suspects, sir?"</p><p>"Someone," Geralt replied, his eyes suddenly sparkling with interest (which scared the official even more), "profited from the Duke's disappearance. It is possible that he <em>was</em> actually murdered."</p><p>The protocol officer paled and reflexively threw a hand over his mouth. A pile of parchment and scrolls noisily went to the floor, spreading ominous chaos.</p>
<hr/><p>In search of a clue, Geralt wandered restlessly through the ducal castle. Digging up the Duke to determine his cause of death seemed like a last resort – one that was not only radical but probably also against court etiquette. However, there was someone who had to know what Duke Ghent had finally died of, namely the one who had officially determined his death, perhaps even issued a death certificate. That was the only good thing about all the courtly bureaucracy: everything had to go its orderly way.</p><p>On his way through the unbelievably long corridors (why were they always so incredibly long in castles and palaces? How long did it take these people to get from one place to another?), Geralt ignored the curious looks as usual. Although it was apparent that he belonged neither in this place nor in these clothes – hell, he even <em>walked</em> like a warrior; besides, his back itched as if the missing swords were laughing at him – plenty of women and also a few men gave him interested looks. However, his attractiveness immediately dropped noticeably when they spotted the ring on his right hand. </p><p>And when it finally clicked inside of them, because they eventually connected charisma, appearance, scar, and hair mentally, it became apparent that word had gotten around even here whom the Emperor had married, and they almost stepped on each other's feet trying to get out of his way. At least he got enough out of the stuttering morons to find his way to the healer. The latter resided in a lavish, not exactly modestly furnished annex and sat, apparently unmolested by any patients, in a study crammed with bookshelves. </p><p>After a polite but reserved greeting – which did not change at the mention of Geralt's official function – he answered the question about the cause of death with certainty, saying that it had been the Duke's weak heart. </p><p>"From what I heard, the man was just over 50," Geralt said skeptically.</p><p>"But overweight, short of breath, and jumpy," the healer replied.</p><p>"Jumpy?" asked Geralt, frowning. </p><p>"Absolutely. Despite his stature, the man was decidedly nervous. A matter of diet, clearly, a consequence of the excessive consumption of honeycomb, which he could not resist. If one approached him in an inconsiderate moment, like from behind, or if he was engrossed in reading, he almost fell off his seat. No wonder he was afraid of shadows."</p><p>"He was afraid of <em>shadows</em>?"</p><p>The healer, who would also have benefited from some weight reduction, leaned back in his chair, which creaked in protest. He pulled a face, gesturing deprecatingly. </p><p>"Well, more likely from what he suspected to be in the shadows," he then said.  </p><p>"Did he fear an attack?"</p><p>The healer sighed. "He was afraid of <em>ghosts.</em> A penchant for spooky stories and his physical weakness, not uncommon in the courtly environment, favored a certain… well, mental decay."</p><p>"Wait," Geralt returned, "he was jumpy, believed in ghosts, had a favorite food whose sweetness would mask many toxins..."</p><p>"You don't think he was poisoned, do you?"</p><p>The healer's bushy brows almost formed a line. </p><p>"A poison that would kill him in installments so that it wouldn't be suspicious. A sudden jumpiness and delusions might fit that," Geralt mused.</p><p>The healer shook his head, folded his arms in front of his chest, coolly remarking, "You witchers may be familiar with strange ways of death, but there was no sign of poisoning. Sometimes the most likely answer is the truth, and the fact is that the Duke was a fat, elderly, dissolute man who died of a weak heart – ironically when he went for a walk for once."</p><p>Geralt leaned forward and looked at the other man intently. </p><p>"Are you saying you didn't like him very much?"</p><p>The healer looked back calmly. "Don't overdo it, witcher," was all he said, and that was that.</p>
<hr/><p>Geralt had the protocol officer make a list that included all the council members – that is, all the participants in the transitional government. The list was surprisingly long, and Geralt postponed questioning all of them until the next day; after all, the Duke didn't come back to life from it either. But Geralt was almost convinced that this list would include possible candidates who had profited – or would still profit – from the Duke's demise. The longer it took Nilfgaard to appoint a permanent government representative (who in the end could also very well emerge from that very council), the more there could be wheeling and dealing at the ducal court. </p><p>Until then, however, the protocol officer (and apparently not only him) was convinced that Geralt was present in a highly official capacity – that is, to make decisions. The whole day the guy had been running after him, always waving some papers. At some point, Geralt, mainly to have his peace, had actually sat down and started to sign what was held out to him without bothering to read the stuff. He had met the judge and acquitted some promiscuous woman accused of adultery (which here, apparently, was a thing one ended up in jail for). This had caused a bit of an uproar, but Geralt thought it was no wonder the woman had started to look for something different – he had been presented with a book of nobility, which contained not only the complete lineage but also a drawing of the man. </p><p>When he lay in bed in the evening in his, admittedly, rather noble guest room, he was almost too exhausted by the whole charade to still feel the same anger as in the morning. Emhyr had made him step through one of the portals he hated, to pretend to be interested in reports of corn shipments or the malachite levels of individual copper mines in this godforsaken nest of duchy. It was a miracle that the Duke had not died of boredom, but certainly not that he had eaten heaps of sweets to overcome it. </p><p>Was this really about finding out if the Duke's death had been natural, or was Emhyr trying to teach him a less than subtle lesson in politics? When Geralt put his head on the pillow, he found that it was too soft. He sighed and absent-mindedly stroked the xenogloss that Triss had given him. His return ticket, with which he could call the sorceress and go back to give Emhyr a good telling off. </p><p>He turned around and realized that the bed was too small, which was crazy because it was a perfectly normal size. He could spread out in it completely undisturbed, and the following day he wouldn't find himself crouched in a narrow strip on the edge. But neither would he find himself in the arms that made sure he didn't fall out.</p>
<hr/><p>Evading the officer the next morning was surprisingly easy. Hardly anyone seemed to get with the first birdsong; even the maids at the Duke's court were granted a little more sleep. Geralt knew only one person besides himself who usually peeled himself out of the sheets at this time of day – and that person was responsible for the fact that he was trying to get as far away as possible from the room with the pile of papers. Besides, he preferred to spend the day wisely, such as putting the entire council through the wringer. In doing so, he wanted to avoid too much attention from the officer, who would surely try to make things difficult for him. </p><p>The question was how to use the time until it was reasonably decent to address the first alderman on the list. Geralt's path led him almost inevitably into the open. The gardens were not particularly lush, not much more than a few static rose beds and a few footpaths to stroll along, but still a welcome change from the castle walls. Around the castle ran a gravel strip, glistening in the sun, joined in most places by a patch of manicured lawn before merging into meticulously laid flowerbeds. </p><p>Here and there were a few benches for those exhausted even by a walk in the open air. Having circled the gardens in a short time, Geralt took a seat on one of them, facing the rear exit of the castle. It was quite possible that the official would be looking for him out here as well. It was probably impossible to hide from the guy permanently anyway, Geralt thought; after all, he knew the terrain better. His gaze wandered from the plain flowerbeds to the castle. Not a particularly exciting masonry. Neither exceptionally large nor interestingly designed, although the wall stones used glittered slightly in the sun, which was probably a particular feature of the material – perhaps it was due to a mixture with sand, which was abundant in the area, Geralt suspected. There were probably statistics about that, too, he thought with an inward sigh. But the stones were not the only thing glittering. Out of the corner of his eye, a sparkle caught his attention, clearly coming from the strip of grass in front of the east side of the castle. </p><p>That would probably be the most exciting thing he would see for the next few hours, so he stood up, curious enough to find out if he was simply dealing with a shard. But that wasn't it. The grass near the castle walls could have used a scythe, which was probably why no one had discovered the little gem yet. Because what had glittered in the sun was an earring. It had to belong to a woman with taste, which was why it was all the more surprising that no one had looked for it. Whereas maybe they had looked for it, but someone had simply not managed to find the piece. It was a pretty earring, an emerald green, oddly shaped pendant on a small, gold pin. </p><p>The shape vaguely reminded Geralt of something, but he just couldn't figure it out. He closed his hand around the piece of jewelry, stood up from his stooped posture, and turned around – only to see the protocol officer at the rear exit, a few steps away. He hadn't noticed him yet, and Geralt hastily pressed himself against the castle wall like a thief, slowly moving to the side until he reached an alcove behind which he could hide. His senses were sharp enough to tell him the officer seemed convinced that the <em>damned witcher</em> was not out here. Geralt continued walking in the other direction to be on the safe side until he found the next entrance. It was time to talk to the council members.</p>
<hr/><p>The aldermen had only good things to say about the Duke. He seemed to have been the purest figure of light (suggesting that they were exaggerating), but basically, their reactions were honest when Geralt brought it up. Duke Ghent had been kind, generous, and charming, and, what was often emphasized, extremely conscientious about the dues to the capital. Everyone seemed to think his penchant for copious amounts of food was the prerogative of a good regent, which also applied to his little <em>quirk</em>, as one of the councilors put it. One even claimed that the Duke <em>loved</em> to be afraid, not only because he liked to listen to spooky stories and devour ghost legends. Apparently, he had adopted what was said to be a foreign custom of celebrating a festival in the fall, the purpose of which was to drive away evil spirits with colored lamps. In truth, it seemed to be mainly about dressing up and giving each other sweets. Eccentric, but not the craziest thing Geralt had ever heard. It just seemed like a twisted form of the usual Samhain festival, and in Geralt's opinion, they could be glad that they had never been infested by banshees while doing so here. </p><p>The interrogations were largely inconclusive when it came to finding out whether the Duke had had any enemies. No one could remotely imagine that anyone would have disliked the good man. Geralt tried to figure out who might have benefited most from his demise, but it turned out that the aldermen mainly fulfilled small-scale functions. Each of them performed several tasks that may have been respectable in their own rights, still, relatively small: managing small estates, paying out wages, awarding contracts to local jewelers in the event of a surplus of silver, documenting travelers, and the like. All in all, they kept the duchy running, but none of them had an understanding of the big picture. That had been the Duke's responsibility; however, he had not taken care of it alone. One name came up particularly often. </p><p>"Nisbeer supported the Duke, in many ways," one of the aldermen said. Another claimed, "Without Nisbeer, the Duke could never have met all his obligations." Still another council member mentioned, "Nisbeer is probably the most diligent of all of us."</p><p>Johan Nisbeer, it turned out, was also a council member, but he was not on the list Geralt had received. "That's because he's just so humble," said one of the men Geralt questioned. "Besides, you must have met him already. Nisbeer keeps the books."</p><p>"The protocol officer is Nisbeer?"</p><p>This was confirmed, and Geralt began to ponder. He had no choice but to give up the game of hiding and look for the officer. However, the man was not in the Duke's study. The desk was neatly tidied, although there were even higher piles of papers on it than the day before. Geralt stepped up to the table and skimmed the documents. Most of it was unimportant stuff. Although every single one of it had Nisbeer's signature next to a blank line for the Duke – which would now remain empty unless Geralt took over that job again – it didn't seem particularly suspicious. Nisbeer was industrious, and presumably, he had occupied a unique position among the council members. Every ruler had a favorite, a confidant, someone to whom one could delegate particularly unpleasant tasks. Emyhr had Meredid, who was much more than his valet. And of course, Geralt, who couldn't refuse the damn guy anything. Loyalty and love were powerful driving forces but just as easily exploited. </p><p>Following an impulse, Geralt asked his way to the Duke's private chambers. The main room turned out to be a kind of copy of the study room – a similar desk, a lot of shelves, books, and scrolls. Even here, there was the obligatory portrait of the Emperor on one of the walls. It was all fine and dandy in the official office, but the fact that his spouse was now staring at him from the wall in the Duke's private chambers as well, Geralt thought was a bit excessive. Furthermore, there was some more comfortable seating, and on the table a tin of nicely wrapped sweets. It seemed to be true what he had been told about the Duke: a consistently good man who had taken his duties seriously, with a weakness for sweet stuff. Geralt took one of the candies out of the tin, unwrapped it from the wax paper, and sniffed it before popping it in his mouth. Anyway, the man had not been poisoned with it, if that had been the case at all. The documents on the desk turned out to be reports on ore and silver deposits in the duchy, including tables of statistics and figures that went on and on, making Geralt's head spin. He wondered, however, why the Duke had bothered with them, because the rest of the papers seemed simply another stack of decisions for him to sign – like work to take home. </p><p>The bedroom of the late Duke adjoined this room. The healer had said that he had not moved very much. In this room, it became clear that the Duke had also had a preference for a comfortable place to sleep for all his love of work. The massive four-poster bed of ornately, finely decorated oak was larger than usual, and it was trimmed with what must have been a dozen brocade pillows. Geralt was already looking forward to telling Emhyr that his penchant for giant beds wasn't all that unique. </p><p>Beyond that, however, there was nothing in the room that told Geralt more about whether the Duke had fallen victim to a greedy servant, or even a ghost, as he might have feared. On a small table next to the bed lay a booklet of ghost stories next to a half-burned candle. Duke Ghent had probably also spent his last night with his hobby. Beneath the window, framed by heavy, dark curtains, was a tall dresser on which the Duke had stored another tin of sweetmeats; sticky, durable cakes sprinkled with sesame seeds. Not quite the right bedtime snack for an overweight person, but oh well. Next to it was another box of fine porcelain, and Geralt lifted the delicate lid in anticipation of more sweets. </p><p>Instead, to his surprise, a piece of jewelry flashed at him. He reached into one of his pockets (which he had had to persuade the tailor to make – Nilfgaard's fashion absurdly did not provide for pockets for men's pants at all, what nonsense) and rummaged out of it the earring he had found in the gardens. In the box was its counterpart. Well, that was interesting. Nothing about the Duke's chambers suggested that he had received lady visitors. So why did he have an earring and a single one at that? It was time to find the protocol officer. He seemed to have been the Duke's confidant; perhaps he could shed some light on the matter – even if that meant Geralt would have to squeeze himself behind the desk again and take up the pen.</p>
<hr/><p>He caught Nisbeer in one of the corridors. The officer seemed to think he had instead caught the witcher, for he put on a punitive face.</p><p>"I've been looking for you all morning, sir," he complained. </p><p>"Hmm," Geralt mouthed innocently. </p><p>They walked the hallways together, passing endless rows of typical paintings – ancestors and relatives, famous personalities, lovely landscapes. </p><p>"There is some work to be done," the protocol officer continued. "We were wondering if your presence was due to settle the Duke's succession."</p><p>Geralt gave the man a sidelong glance. Considering that such decisions often took a long time and that his appearance so soon after the Duke's death might seem somewhat puzzling, even if the duchy's raw material resources were important, the assumption was probably justified. Geralt only hoped that Emhyr did not actually intend to leave this decision up to him. In any case, he had not mentioned it. Just as he had omitted to mention that Geralt was expected to put his name under documents that his husband must have suspected he would not read. </p><p>While he was still searching for a plausible answer, his gaze fell on the murals. Suddenly he stopped as if rooted to the spot, ignoring the officer's irritated "Sir?"</p><p>"Who is that?" Geralt asked, pointing to the portrait of a woman hanging in a gold frame between paintings of a desert plain with a thirsty panther (or what the artist had imagined it to be) and a portrait of a scowling older man. The painting was nothing special, a classic picture in oil, neither particularly elaborate nor especially appealing. The woman in it was illustrated up to her chest, an unassuming beauty with a slightly too large nose and brown hair that fell to her indecently bare shoulders. That was not the remarkable thing about the portrait, but the earrings the woman was wearing — narrow gold danglers with an emerald green, oddly shaped pendant. </p><p>"Her?" asked Nisbeer, apparently irritated by the sudden change of subject. He shrugged his shoulders. "A distant ancestor of the Duke, whose exact degree of kinship has never been fully clarified, which is why she occupies this somewhat inglorious place. The gentleman next to her is also presumably a relative of the same status. Little effort was made in earlier times to keep the books in order."</p><p>The last words came disapprovingly – no wonder, one put here, nevertheless, the greatest value on decent documentation. </p><p>"However," the officer continued, "the unnamed lady is the subject of a local ghost legend. It's amazing that this portrait, in particular, catches your eye, Sir. Duke Ghent liked it for some reason. Well, he liked ghost stories, didn't he."</p><p>"I guess he wasn't the only one," Geralt said thoughtfully, pulling the earring from the garden out of his pocket. He compared the piece with the painting. A very good copy of the jewelry of the lady in the picture.</p><p>Nisbeer frowned. "What does that mean?" he asked.</p><p>Geralt pointed his finger at him. "The duke was murdered," he said. "And I think I can prove it."</p><p>The officer paled. </p>
<hr/><p>Geralt strolled almost casually into the healer's parlor. The treatment table in one corner of the room was empty, but a collection of knives, hooks, and other medical equipment, as well as a bloody rag on the floor, were testimony that the man must have already had a patient that morning. He was in the process of cleaning his utensils with an alcohol-soaked cloth. </p><p>"Looks unpleasant," Geralt remarked, pointing to the rag.</p><p>The healer looked up, surprised to see the witcher again. His lips pinched reluctantly, but he replied, "No big deal. One of the guards cut himself on his own sword, that idiot."</p><p>"Sometimes, the most likely answer is the truth," Geralt said. </p><p>"Huh?" The healer appeared annoyed.</p><p>"Your own words, yesterday," Geralt calmly remarked. "You are a clever man. The best way to hide lies is to clothe them in a piece of truth."</p><p>"Are you accusing me of lying?" roared the other.</p><p>Geralt raised his hands placatingly. "No, you absolutely told the truth; you just left out a few interesting details. As his physician, you knew very well about the Duke's weaknesses. You were the one that told me he loved ghost stories."</p><p>"Which is true," the healer replied cautiously. </p><p>"That's right," Geralt said as he walked up and down the room, never taking his eyes off the healer, however. "What you didn't tell me is that you are also part of the council. You belong to the aldermen."</p><p>"Why would I mention that when you asked me about the Duke?"</p><p>Geralt shrugged. He stepped up to the healer's desk and skimmed a few of the documents, which the man tried to prevent by quickly gathering up the sheets.</p><p>"This is confidential patient information," he rumbled. </p><p>"Sure. Nice handwriting," Geralt said, pulling out the list with the names of the councilors. "Pretty similar to this one."</p><p>"The protocol officer wrote these."</p><p>Geralt shook his head indulgently. "It looks like it, I'll admit. However, it is only a forgery, albeit a well-made one. A lot of people in the castle are occupied with writing, including Nisbeer, of course. But also the physician, a person constantly writing reports. He needs good handwriting and a lot of patience. Both important qualities if you want to forge documents."</p><p>"Absurd," the healer snarled. </p><p> "Is that so," Geralt muttered. Aloud he said, "Anyway, it's noticeable that Nisbeer's name is missing from the list. So conspicuous that a smart man like you could be sure that I would take care of it. Still, the document is a fake, like this one."</p><p>With these words, he pulled out the earring. "How peculiar that this piece of jewelry so closely resembles that of a woman in a painting. Who happens to be the subject of a ghost story."</p><p>One of the healer's hands unobtrusively closed around one of the knives that still lay spread out on a small table next to the treatment table. Not inconspicuous enough for the keen senses of the witcher, who casually remarked, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Here is my theory, and I admit I was quite wrong in my initial assumption that the Duke was poisoned. No, in fact, he was <em>scared to death</em>. Probably the whole charade dragged on for a long time, so no one became suspicious. Somehow you brought to life the legend of the ghostly figure of the woman from the painting. What did you do, probably the usual at first? Voices that seemed to come from the walls? Ghostly moving curtains? Things that suddenly moved through the area?"</p><p>There was a flash in the healer's eyes under his bushy eyebrows. Geralt put his hands on his hips (which, in those silly clothes, probably wasn't quite the threatening gesture as it usually was in his armor) and tilted his head. </p><p>"You didn't do it alone," he noted. "Too much effort, and hard to do by ordinary means, too, unless you're an amateur alchemist or know some harmless magic tricks."</p><p>A muscle twitched in the other man's face. Ah, how little they knew about the subtle stirrings of the body. </p><p>"The motive is easy to find," Geralt continued. "Greed united with a conspicuous lack of obedience to authority."</p><p>"What do you mean?"</p><p>"Of all the people at court, you were the only one who made anything approaching unflattering comments about Duke Ghent. And the only one who has not treated the imperial consort with a modicum of respect."</p><p> "I apologize if you got that impression," the healer replied stiffly with a pinched face. </p><p>"For such an answer, the Emperor would make you crawl in the dust," said Geralt contemptuously, beginning to feel like smashing the guy's face in. And definitely not because of his lack of respect. </p><p>Did the man sense Geralt's rising aggression, or had he just had enough of this conversation? Despite his rather bulky figure, his movement was surprisingly fast as he lunged at Geralt with the knife. The latter dodged fluently. The attack went nowhere, and the healer stumbled and fell to the ground. </p><p>"Ridiculous," Geralt growled. Even as he was about to kick the healer's knife away, the same grabbed Geralt's right ankle with a surprisingly firm grip. With clearly more skill than strength and astonishing speed, he executed a motion, and with a sickening crack, the joint broke. Too amazed for a sound, Geralt went down on his knees, thinking this would never have happened if he had shown up in his damn armor in the first place. </p><p>"Ridiculous," the healer replied with a superior grin as he struggled to his feet, "is probably rather how you underestimated how many vulnerabilities of the human body medical experts know."</p><p>"I'll show you what weak points you have right now," Geralt growled, dropping onto his back and kicking the other's soft parts with his healthy leg. The healer gasped and staggered back a step, which was enough for Geralt to get back on his feet, albeit somewhat awkwardly. The guy had taken hold of his table and suddenly threw one of his knives at Geralt, tearing the thin fabric of his doublet and causing a fleeting cut on his upper arm. In addition to the pain of the broken ankle, which was already visibly swelling, anger now joined in. A second knife came flying. Geralt dodged it effortlessly. </p><p>The guy seemed to forget that he didn't need his swords. Not even the knife, still on the ground, that the healer was squinting at. He ran out of throwing objects and seemed to gauge his chances of being faster than the injured witcher if he lunged for the knife. </p><p>"What was the reason, huh?" asked Geralt in a biting tone. "Too many honeycombs for the Duke, too few for you?"</p><p>The healer pulled in his stomach, noticeably offended, and reached for a bottle on the table. It contained a foul-smelling concoction, which became clear when he let the container shatter on the edge of the table. Threatened by a knocked-off bottle, Geralt began to laugh. </p><p>"He didn't even have to notice," the man hissed. </p><p>Geralt tilted his head. "What?"</p><p>"We've been sneaking raw materials past the books for ages. Somehow he's become suspicious," the healer growled, waving his improvised weapon. Geralt approached him slowly (well, he <em>could</em> only walk slowly, thank you very much). </p><p>"Stop right there! We can still make a deal. Why should I profit on my own? We can share the proceeds; it's all between us, a nice extra income..."</p><p>"You're forgetting who you're talking to again," Geralt replied with raised brows. "Wait. Let me guess. Your task is to give concessions to the jewelers? For the surplus silver? So it was never about the succession to the Duke." </p><p>"Do you think just because I'm on the council I have any chance of holding that office? I don't even want it. What am I supposed to do with this burden?"</p><p>"You said <em>we</em>," Geralt remarked, "Was it Nisbeer? Is he your accomplice?"</p><p>"Nonsense," said a female voice behind Geralt, and even as he turned in surprise, something extremely hard crashed against his skull. </p>
<hr/><p>As always, when several hours passed without any reasonable results in consultations, Emhyr's mood eventually changed from impatient to sullen. In this state, he regarded his staff of advisors to be dimwitted morons, too daft to put a signature to a piece of parchment. As they sat there, spread out around the long table in his conference room, while he almost fell asleep at their dopey litanies, he would have loved to stand up and knock all their ridiculous hats off their heads (or give those who didn't wear one a hefty blow to the back of the skulls). </p><p>Right now, they were arguing – most of them older men, except for one rather tough woman, the only one who occasionally said something clever – about a map, which they almost snatched out of each other's hands. They yelled groomed insults at each other across the table as if they had completely forgotten where they were and who they were dealing with. It was all about a ridiculous piece of land, and the problems were primarily of a legal nature, which is why a large part of those people was completely useless and had no say at all, but none of them seemed to realize that. </p><p>Emhyr rose slowly, propping his hands on the tabletop, and his gaze roamed over the group, which he thought at that moment was a bunch of incompetent crybabies, forcing himself not to throw out all of them immediately – or fire them, jail them, behead them. Whatever. For an awfully long moment, they didn't notice whose attention they had attracted and continued to argue, so he straightened up to his full height. Now his gaze was cold as ice, his patience at an end, and at last, his eloquent silence caught their notice. </p><p>He was just about to open his mouth to tell them what he thought of them and their plans when a loud protest sounded outside the large double door, and it was pushed open with a lot of momentum. Immediately, the guards on that side of the door crossed their halberds, and even as Emhyr wondered what had happened to those on the other side, Geralt rushed into the room. Behind him, Emhyr saw his court sorceress hurrying up, trying to catch up with Geralt. With a single wave of his hand, the latter brought down the guards, and a horrified murmur went through the room. The soldiers behind Emhyr's seat took a step forward, but he gestured for them to stop. </p><p>Geralt was angry; that much was obvious. His hardened jaw bore witness to copious gnashing of teeth, and his eyes glittered ominously. The reason for his discomfort might be that his face was covered in blood. Besides, his clothes were partly torn, and he was limping. No, he <em>dragged</em> one foot, the joint strangely twisted. It looked painful. He stumbled into the room more than he walked, pointed accusingly at Emhyr at the end of the table, and growled, "You ass. Did you know that stupid Duke employed a third-rate sorceress and just forgot to tell me? Oh, by the way, Duke Ghent has been murdered."</p><p>The words caused the advisors to murmur again, this time in horror. Perhaps even a small squeak could be heard from the only lady in the room. Emhyr knew that expression on Geralt's face. Oh, he might be angry, quite a bit, but there was more. He paced around the table until he was with him. Geralt reached out a hand to hold onto the table but missed it. Emhyr grabbed his arm. Geralt shook him off. "She hit me over the head with a vase and disappeared. Anyway, it wasn't a marble one like yours."</p><p>Emhyr glanced at those present, who were watching the whole thing partly with curiosity, partly with horror. Probably half of them now thought he was beating his spouse with marble vases. Great.</p><p>"But of course, they didn't count on witchers having hard skulls," Geralt continued as he left a neat trail of blood on the stone floor of the conference room. His voice and eyes worried Emhyr, and he tried again, more gently this time, to reach for Geralt's arm. He noticed Merigold slowly approaching from behind.</p><p>"Geralt, let me...," she began, but he impatiently raised a hand without turning around and continued, "I got the... the... healer and pinned him down, and I notified the guards, you should send soldiers and interrogate him so we can find out who this witch was…"</p><p>Finally, his broken ankle gave way, and he cursed and went to his knees. Emhyr sighed, caught him, and held him tightly. And Geralt? He suddenly grinned, that idiot. </p>
<hr/><p>When it came to the bedside, there was one more thing Emhyr was exceptionally good at. Even if the bed, in this case, was merely the treatment table in the small infirmary that Merigold had set up last year, now managed by a druid from Skellige, that treated most patients. Just not in this case – the treatment of the imperial consort was reserved solely for the court sorceress. However, what Emhyr was particularly good at on this bed was holding Geralt's hand, whether to stroke it confidently or to channel his pain. </p><p>The setting of the joint, the straightening of the broken bone was clearly painful, but Geralt endured it stubbornly as ever, as perhaps Emhyr's presence.</p><p>"Are you still angry with me?" he asked him softly. </p><p>Geralt made a slight sound, about as if he were suppressing a laugh, as he sometimes did when pretending to be angry, though one look into the amber eyes above him usually melted his anger like snow in the sun. </p><p>"You sent me there for <em>politics</em>," he said accusingly. </p><p>"That was the point, sure," Emhyr calmly returned. </p><p>"No, not that. You claimed that me showing off there was primarily for representation while you wanted me to find out what happened to the Duke, but you were after something else, weren't you?"</p><p>Emhyr sighed. "Would that be so bad?"</p><p>Geralt took a moment to lower his free hand, with which he was pressing a cloth to his head wound, and looked at him. He put his hand on Emhyr's and muttered, "Nice try."</p><p>The smile they exchanged was a very particular one, the meaning of which only they both knew. </p><p>"Tell me what happened. How did the Duke die?"</p><p>"Wait a minute," Triss interjected, and with one last, nasty jerk, the bone was back in place. "I'll refrain from telling you to take a few days off. Let me see your head. Yeah, I'll have to stitch that up."</p><p>As she began to search behind him for a needle, Geralt continued, "Well, he did indeed die as his physician had claimed: of a weak heart."</p><p>"But you said he was killed," Emhyr replied. </p><p>"He was. The interrogation will bring absolute clarity, but this is what I think happened: the healer, with his accomplice, had been doing business with the jewelers off the books for a long time. That is, he had given them more concessions to work with silver than the surplus raw materials actually yielded. Somehow, the Duke found out that something was wrong. The healer must have believed he would catch on to him, so he came up with a vicious plan. Duke Ghent was known for his penchant for ghost stories, which, however, made him afraid of ghosts. In my opinion, not a shameful fear; yet, they had no problems at all there with specters. The healer and his accomplice decided to change that. She can do some magic, but it is possible that she is not a trained sorceress. However, it was enough to bring to life one of the Duke's favorite scary characters. The physician had jewelry made like that of a well-known ghost legend, and the woman created some spooky effects. Then they probably slipped the Duke one of the earrings, so he believed the thing, or they lost them, and he found one, something like that. Ouch."</p><p>"Sorry," Triss said. "She hit you pretty hard; I need a longer thread."</p><p>"Hmm. Well, anyway, on the night of the Duke's death, they must have taken the game too far," Geralt continued. "But that had been their intention, after all. The healer knew that the short-breathed, physically lazy Duke had a weak heart. As much as he loved the stories, he was also frightened. Well, you <em>can</em> die of fear. The physician knew that."</p><p>"And the woman just disappeared?" asked Emhyr. </p><p>"I think she was a little surprised when I turned around and stared at her after she hit me."</p><p>"She didn't expect you to be so pig-headed."</p><p>"Or that you'd still be able to get up with that foot," Triss interjected. </p><p>Geralt shrugged and grinned. "Maybe she felt like she had seen a ghost."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>Some time later, Geralt was lying in a bed of just the right size, head and foot resting on pillows of just the right softness. The only reason he noticed or even cared was lying next to him, unfortunately fully clothed (which he still planned to change), stroking his hair. </p><p>"You should get some rest. That was a nasty, massive hole in your head. Are you sure that wasn't marble?"</p><p>"Not funny," Geralt muttered, admitting that even lying down made his head spin a little. "I'm ..."</p><p>"Just don't say it," Emhyr sighed.</p><p>"...fine."</p><p>"You're not. And I'm sorry."</p><p>"Well, even though your advisors probably think so now, it wasn't you who hit me with a vase," Geralt mocked.</p><p>"You know what I mean."</p><p>"You mean you're apologizing for having failed colossally in trying to teach me a lesson?"</p><p>"You are an idiot," Emhyr replied tenderly.</p><p>"I know," Geralt said in an indulgent tone. "Now kiss me and promise you won't try something like that again."</p><p>"You want me to lie?"</p><p>"You always have to have the last word, don't you?"</p><p>"Of course," Emhyr said. And Geralt got his kiss. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Beautiful anger, breaking the pattern</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>On request: How would Emhyr deal with Geralt receiving fan mail? (Inspired by the quest "The warble of a smitten knight", in which – if you did not know – Geralt actually can find fan letters in his tent).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It began, of course, by accident. </p><p>Geralt now spent almost half the year in Vizima, less when he was on contract or on his vineyard or Emhyr was called to Nilfgaard by matters that could not be postponed. So Emhyr had a room set up for him in the palace. Geralt used the place to make potions when he needed them; he kept a second armor set there (after some events had taught him that this might be necessary), and at some point even had Eskel send him some books from the old fortress. </p><p>That evening, Emhyr found him in that room. Geralt had not bothered to arrange the chamber in any way to his liking. This was an indelible trait about him, a habit with such a pull that even the – compared to the capital palace – rather modest luxury of the surroundings did nothing to change it. In principle, Geralt knew all facets of comfort. Still, he had slept outdoors longer in his life than in a bed with silk sheets, so perhaps it was no wonder that he didn't value the furnishings in this room. There was a kind of work table against one wall, a few bookshelves, an armchair, and a desk, which he at least used occasionally to write letters. It was austere and utilitarian, more a place of work than relaxation, so Emhyr was almost surprised to find him sitting in an armchair reading. </p><p>"Please tell me this is not another one of those erotica slush from that anonymous hack," Emhyr said as he entered. </p><p>Geralt looked up in surprise. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so disparaging about the author – as far as I know, you've profited from his fantasies," he replied with a wink. "And no, it's nothing salacious."</p><p>He lifted the booklet so that Emhyr could read the title. As he did so, a slip of paper, apparently used as a bookmark, fluttered out of the pages. In a fit of gallantry, Emhyr bent down and picked up the sheet. He glanced at it, suddenly frowned.  </p><p>"What's that?" he asked, his voice a mixture of amusement and, oddly enough, nearly accusation. </p><p>Geralt shrugged. "You remember that tournament I told you about?"</p><p>"In Touissaint? Hard to forget, since you won it – and are fond of telling about it when you've had too much to drink," Emhyr replied dryly. "However, there had been no mention of love letters in the stories so far."</p><p>"That hardly passes for a love letter," Geralt replied. </p><p>Emhyr turned the paper back in his direction and read aloud,<em> "To the owner of those strong arms, men like you drive me wild. I want to have a herd of your white-haired, scar-faced babies. </em>Signed by an <em>enthralled admirer</em>."</p><p>"I got another one that describes me as <em>perfectly muscled</em>," Geralt said. </p><p>Emhyr's raised brows might indicate surprise or disapproval; it was hard to tell. </p><p>"Flattering, I'm sure. But why did you keep the letters?"</p><p>Geralt thought about it for a moment. "I don't really know," he finally admitted. </p><p>"You use them as <em>bookmarks</em>."</p><p>"Fine, let's say they're flattering," Geralt replied lightly. "You should have seen the ones in Palmerin de Launfal's tent."  </p><p>On the surface, that was the end of the matter. But somehow, it wasn't. The sex they had that night was... interesting. They were often tempestuous, usually of a fervor that was difficult to contain, and it was noticeable that Emhyr's lust was not infrequently linked to his moods. When he was troubled inside, for whatever reason, it always showed in their love life. But this was different. It was rough, hard, but in a different way than usual; wilder, downright dominant – and above all, extremely exciting. </p><p>The following day, they did not address it, although they both seemed utterly satisfied. On the other hand, they were usually easy to please as far as that was concerned; they fitted each other like lock and key, were almost physically addicted to each other. The fact that they sincerely loved and adored each other was like icing on the cake that no one had expected because the filling was already so satisfying. It had taken them a while to realize that that one did not work without the other because that's just how they were. </p><p>Despite everything, it was hard to define what had been different, and everyday life left them little opportunity to delve deeper into it, even if it had been significant enough to them at all. Life went on as usual, as far as could be said in this case, when one ruled the greatest of all empires and the other willingly threw himself in the way of monsters.</p><p>Neither Geralt nor Emhyr were really convinced of the power of coincidence, and yet Emhyr stumbled upon a little secret purely by chance. That day he sat in his study, as usual, alone in the contemplative quiet that came both from his surroundings and his work routine. The things he did here – reading, evaluating, deciding, signing – were little different from anything he did in the many hours he spent in public; here, however, there were not the manifold distractions of the overloud, exceedingly annoying courtiers and his advisors, who were always trying to outdo each other in their boot licking.  </p><p>There was something familiar and reassuring in the stack of papers on his desk. There were always a good number of letters among them; petitions, invitations, reports, and the like. One of the envelopes caught his attention. It was narrower than the others, inscribed in fine, delicate handwriting, and surprisingly, a slight hint of a rosy perfume emanated from it. Although Emhyr made a point of handling his mail almost ritualistically from top to bottom as it was presented to him, he pulled out this envelope and noticed to his surprise that the letter was not addressed to him at all. It was for Geralt. </p><p>What exactly was it that drove him to pull the ornate knife through the envelope and open a letter that was obviously not meant for him? Emhyr preferred to ignore a certain voice inside him, too tempted by the scent and the handwriting. It was, of course, a love letter, a many-line ode to white hair and, by the great sun, <em>strong thighs</em>. </p><p>He did not even try to claim that he had opened the letter by mistake, and strangely enough, there was no expected accusation from Geralt as to why he had read his mail. Emhyr felt strange as he presented the letter, and his tone sounded rather strained with amusement as he said, "I guess you have more admirers than you think."</p><p>Geralt said nothing to this; he took the letter, skimmed it, made some mocking remark, and put the paper aside. They spoke no more about it, but that night they loved each other again with that distinct fierceness. Their passion was almost painful; still, at the same time, of a kind that needed no words, no explanations. But once again, neither of them drew a connection or wondered what exactly was so different. Those were unprecedented, memorable moments, and in the face of permanent, smoldering danger, they had learned to live in the present: to enjoy what they had, to appreciate when times were quiet. </p><p>They might never have talked about it because it might never have happened again – and it would have been all right, a special gift at an ordinary time; a surprise no one expected and could never hope to repeat. Until that particular evening, which seemed almost like a repetition of the first event, a strange deja vu. It had been a particularly long day, a day full of things that threw Emhyr out of his usual routine, and as for Geralt, he had spent hours poring over an old potion recipe that Eskel had sent him and asked him for an opinion on. That they found time for each other was more than a welcome change, and the kisses they exchanged were a mutual assurance that their companionship, their love, would always be their common refuge. </p><p>How exactly it came about that Emhyr stumbled upon the pile of letters was hard to reconstruct later, and it was not important. As a matter of fact, a loose piece of paper and a note in a fragrant envelope had turned into a whole bunch of love letters. A pile of love vows, adorations of pale skin and milk-white hair, of tight muscles and... well, <em>powerful privates.</em></p><p>"When did they all arrive?" asked Emhyr, a little stunned, although always trying to keep his composure.</p><p>"In recent weeks. Well, months," Geralt admitted bluntly. "Basically since the wedding... I hardly get any to Corvo Bianco, but they seem to find it kind of stimulating to send them here."</p><p>He actually seemed blatantly amused by this fact, and Emhyr didn't ask why he had kept the letters. Instead, he pushed Geralt onto the desk, and then across it; and what happened next had as much to do with the word <em>lovemaking</em> from one of the letters as a body of stagnant water has to do with the ocean. It wasn't just rough, it was close to absolute ruthlessness, and it didn't stop at the desk. </p><p>The polished stone floor of a plain study room was hardly the appropriate place for the conversation, but now seemed like the right time, and they realized they had simply been delaying the inevitable. It was the floor where they ended, breathless and amazed. </p><p>"I don't know why you're angry, but.... could we do this more often?"</p><p>Emhyr appeared taken aback as he replied, "What makes you think I'm angry?"</p><p>Geralt looked at him for a long moment. His hair was a mess, and he lay there almost shattered. It wasn't true that witchers couldn't blush; there was this particular spot on Geralt's neck that bore witness to the past few minutes. Emhyr couldn't stop staring at it.</p><p>"I don't know," Geralt finally replied, "but if that wasn't rage sex..."</p><p>"You're still reading those stories," Emhyr sighed. Then he half straightened, propped himself on his elbow, and admitted, "I don't know what that was."</p><p>Geralt shook his head. "Are you perhaps jealous?" he asked frankly. "Don't get me wrong; I really want us to do this again. But didn't you notice that it has something to do with the letters?"</p><p>"They're <em>love letters</em>, Geralt."</p><p>"Yes, and they're flattering, sure, but..."</p><p>"Is that what it is about?" asked Emyhr. "Do you want me to compliment you? You're as romantic like an old ass, Geralt, but maybe there's more to you than…"</p><p>The words came mockingly, but Emhyr broke off when he saw Geralt's perplexed face. Then he smiled one of his incredibly rare and special smiles. </p><p>"You have no idea," he said. "After all this time, you still have no idea how beautiful you are, and that's why part of you doesn't believe that anyone could give you an honest compliment. But another part of you wishes that's exactly what happened, and that's why you kept the letters."</p><p>"Men are handsome, not beautiful," Geralt said evasively. </p><p>"I suppose it depends on who's looking at them. Anyway, there are obviously more who appreciate your features than you think," Emhyr said as he ran his fingers over some of the scars on Geralt's chest, causing the latter to shiver with pleasure. </p><p>"Jealous after all," Geralt returned, almost sounding as flattered as he was by the stately number of letters he had received. </p><p>"Stupid after all," said Emhyr, tenderly knocking his fingers against Geralt's sweaty forehead. Considering the fact that he extremely rarely joked, that was almost an accolade. Then, suddenly, he became serious. "You're right," he admitted unexpectedly, "it has to do with the letters. My life is predictable to a certain extent, Geralt. Determined by routines, rules, and regulations, full of constants, and that's good, that's... order. And then there's you. The one undeterminable, the unknown in the equation."</p><p>"I bring chaos?" Geralt teased, but Emhyr didn't buy into it.</p><p>"You bring <em>life</em>. A whole other constant. Trust without rules. I don't know what it is that keeps you, but it's not power or wealth or prestige. To try to hold you anywhere at all seems to me like trying to... well, let's save comparisons with wild animals. But you could always decide to leave, couldn't you? You are not bound by any etiquette, tradition, or rules."</p><p>Geralt shook his head, almost indulgently. He took Emhyr's right hand in his, pressed a kiss on it, and then held it in front of his face. </p><p>"Isn't that a bond? Is that not a promise? I don't even know who you think less of, me or yourself."</p><p>"I think very highly of you," Emhyr said softly.</p><p>"Well, I guess the feeling is mutual. And if I had known that love letters would spur you on like that, I would have written some myself. Besides, you get mail from admirers yourself, my dear."</p><p>"In which I am not usually promised <em>kisses on my white neck</em>," his spouse replied dryly. </p><p>"Unimaginative," Geralt returned, and his smile shone up to his eyes. "Maybe I really should write some of these letters myself and mix them inconspicuously in with your mail. I could praise myself being a <em>white stallion</em>..."</p><p>Emhyr raised his brows and sighed. "You <em>have</em> been reading those books again, haven't you?"</p><p>"I don't know where you get that idea. But if you need inspiration outside of corny letters, there's this one, it suggested…"</p><p>Geralt leaned forward. White hair and warm breath brushed Emhyr's ear, and at a few whispered words, his eyes widened. He pressed his hands against his witcher's chest, pinning him to the floor. </p><p>For this, he did not need instructions.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragon's fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is for a Tumblr prompt as follows:</p><p>"Hypothetical prompt for a teensy weensy tiny fic: Character A is very sleepy/ dealing with a headache/ has trouble falling asleep and Character B takes a solidarity-nap with them someplace quiet, pretty and calm.</p><p>(Bonus if you include A talking in their half sleep/ minor nightmares and jumps which B successfully calms down)"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door opened all but without a sound, but Emhyr startled, as if he had been deeply engrossed in the papers on his desk – in truth, he had been staring into emptiness, unable to concentrate on any thought. </p><p>"Do you know what time it is?"</p><p>Emhyr gave his spouse a frown, revealing that he had lost track of time. A look at the half-burned candle in its copper bowl told him that it was late. Very late.</p><p>"Geralt," he returned in a puzzled tone, reaching out to him – a strangely touching, almost forlorn gesture. "I have..."</p><p>"Been brooding, what else," Geralt replied with a slight smile. He half sat down on the desk, but Emyhr's face betrayed more weariness than displeasure. Then he took the quill, which his husband still held in his hand; indeed, he clutched it almost convulsively, as if it were a precious tool that he dare not to lose. Geralt placed it on its little bench, which lay on the table next to the inkpot. </p><p>"You've been sitting on this for two nights, heck, two days <em>and</em> nights straight. Take a break and rest."</p><p>"I must… "Emhyr began, with that small, unwilling crease across his brows that Geralt occasionally referred to as a <em>defiance crease</em>. </p><p>"Sleep, nothing else."</p><p>"It troubles me," Emhyr admitted with unusual honesty, rubbing the back of his hand across his forehead. </p><p>Then, as if he had caught himself in a gesture that betrayed weakness – even to his own husband – he put both hands flat on the desk as if to ground himself. But that didn't last long; soon, his fingers began drumming an impatient little cacophony on the tabletop. </p><p>"I know," Geralt replied softly. "I know it's difficult, and I know you're doing everything you can to find a solution. But you're no use to anyone if you exhaust yourself."</p><p>Emhyr leaned back and gave the witcher a look in which, despite his fatigue, there was a hint of mockery. </p><p>"I have a whole staff of advisors."</p><p>"Most of which will tell you what you want to hear," Geralt returned. He leaned forward, his face very close to Emhyr's, and continued softly, "Or do you want me to <em>command</em> you?"</p><p>This time, one of the rare genuine smiles crossed Emhyr's face, even if it didn't make up for the shadows under his eyes. He crossed his arms, regarding Geralt with a sort of challenging gaze. </p><p>"The day I obey one of your orders, I will have a special flag raised, my dear."</p><p>"Well," Geralt replied with a mischievous (no, probably slightly filthy) grin, "as much as I love looking at that <em>flag</em>, you should be in bed for other reasons."</p><p>There was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone, and it was probably what prompted Emhyr to take Geralt's hand and candidly admit, "I can't sleep. Not because I would not want to. As soon as I close my eyes, I think of these people, this <em>problem</em>, and my thoughts won't turn off."</p><p>Geralt nodded, and in his gaze lay not only a genuine understanding but compassion that touched Emhyr in a special way. In one fluid movement, Geralt rose, pulling his spouse along with him by his outstretched hand, and the latter followed as if pulled by a string and stood up, albeit with a slightly confused expression. </p><p>"I'll lie down with you," Geralt promised, "and you and I will just take a short nap. A compromise that should please you, after all, I learned from the best, don't you think? We'll close our eyes, just for a short while, and I guarantee you won't think about anything. It will do you good."</p><p>"<em>You</em> will do me good," Emhyr replied softly, and that settled the matter.</p><p>The bedroom lay in darkness. Geralt lit only a single candle so that his spouse could find his way in the gloom as surely as he could, and the latter sank unresistingly onto the bed as if it had only needed this prompt. Despite his exhaustion, he still did not believe this was enough to snap him out of his musings. A deep sleep, he felt as much as the pain that announced itself behind his forehead, would not be granted to him until he knew exactly how to solve his problem. Still, the pillow under his head was as tempting as the cool sheets, and even more so the body next to his own, feeling as heavy as anything that weighed him down. </p><p>"Close your eyes."</p><p>That was a request that took some effort to follow, but Geralt clearly had more patience than he did, and they could both match each other in stubbornness anyway. </p><p>The witcher just lay there looking at him, affection and a particular concern in his look, which now mixed with slight amusement as if he knew exactly what Emhyr was thinking. So the latter finally closed his eyes. </p><p>"Now breathe with me."</p><p>Emhyr's lips curled in a sneer, whether he wanted to or not.</p><p>"Are we meditating now?"</p><p>"You have no patience for that," Geralt replied calmly. "Ah. Shut your eyes!"</p><p>After his stare did not have the desired effect, Emhyr closed his eyes again. Geralt placed one of his hands on his chest, a physical connection that strangely made it easier for Emhyr to pay attention to his words.</p><p>"Breathe," Geralt repeated.</p><p>"I think..." began Emhyr, but Geralt interrupted him immediately, not unkindly, "Don't think."</p><p>This request was almost ridiculous; how could one not <em>think</em>? Thoughts didn't disappear; you couldn't force them aside. There were no weapons against them – how amazing that Geralt, of all people, a unique weapon himself if necessary, claimed he knew the trick to make thoughts simply vanish. </p><p>"Feel my hand," he said, and that again was easy. This hand was so familiar to Emhyr that he would have sworn he could feel it out of a hundred others with his eyes closed. That hand was warm, trusting, and sure; a promise in itself, and yes, he felt it on his chest, a weight that was none and yet carried so much, so heavy. </p><p>"Breathe with me," Geralt repeated, his voice merely a hint, and strangely enough, it seemed pretty easy now. The heaviness behind Emhyr's forehead was no longer just leaden fatigue. It became tantalizing, like the announcement that something worthwhile lay behind it. Next to him was the assurance of a body he knew and trusted, and that assurance gave him the strength to focus on nothing but the other's breath. The blackness around him seemed to turn into colors, and he became all the more aware of the soundlessness of his surroundings when all he could hear was that soft breathing. And then – nothing more.</p><p>Until the moment when a loud gasp, a suppressed scream made him start up; a sound he couldn't place for a moment. Darkness enveloped him, and he remembered; he had apparently fallen asleep. How long, Emhyr could not have said. But what had awakened him from this thoroughly restful slumber, he quickly realized after a moment of typical confusion. Geralt, his hair disheveled, was sitting upright in bed, staring blindly into the darkness, muttering something. With both hands, he clutched one leg, and now everything was plain. </p><p>His fingers clawed into his flesh as if he had to cover a horribly bleeding wound, and Emhyr knew he was doing just that at that moment; that it must feel to him as if blood was oozing from between his fingers, he must feel as if there was nothing to stop that bleeding. The truth had been different, and Emhyr shuddered at the thought of what had to be done back then, what he had done. He sat up, and carefully, very gently, he put a hand on Geralt's back as if he tried to calm a savage animal. </p><p>"Wake up," he said softly. "It's a dream. Just a dream."</p><p>Geralt's face was contorted with pain, which he was living through more clearly in this nightmare than it had been in reality - shock and adrenaline had masked the pain then, but it always made its way in dreams. And it didn't stop there, which was an inevitable side effect of two ghastly fractures and magical healings. The pain was real, and the dreams could be very long and very unpleasant. Emhyr's hand on Geralt's back strove for the same assurance the latter had given him, the same promise, the same security. </p><p>"I'm here," he said softly, and he knew his voice was finding a way into those dreams, as was his touch.</p><p>The return to reality was always the same: a gasp, sounding like someone who had been almost drowning catching their breath. After this, the realization that didn't need the words, but Emhyr repeated them anyway, like a mantra that aided them both, "You were dreaming. It's over."</p><p>Geralt turned to him. The one small candle was still burning, albeit dimly, and its light cast a shadow on his face, making his expression difficult for Emhyr to see. In any case, he sounded slightly confused, sleepy, as he replied, "I was asleep? Wait. You were asleep, too."</p><p>Emhyr suspected that his spouse could see his smile even in this twilight, and he didn't hide it.</p><p>"It looks like it. Your method was successful."</p><p>"So was yours," Geralt returned quietly, reaching for Emhyr's hand and squeezing it in mutual understanding. To his surprise, Emhyr's eyes suddenly widened, and he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, albeit marked by suppressed passion. </p><p>"Probably," he replied triumphantly, "but yours had quite another effect."</p><p>Unexpectedly, he jumped up, sat on the edge of the bed, and impatiently fumbled for his shoes. </p><p>"I know what I have to do. It's very simple."</p><p>"You see," Geralt smiled, "it is possible to detach your thoughts from one thing after all. At least temporarily."</p><p>"Oh, you're quite right about that one," Emhyr said, stroking his cheek tenderly. "There is only one thing from which I find it even more difficult to detach my thoughts, and that is the sight of you in this bed."</p><p>Despite these words, he now stood up, and with slight disappointment, Geralt replied, "But you do it anyway."</p><p>"I do it anyway," Emhyr confirmed. "Just for a while."</p><p>There was a promise in those words. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 'Cos you know that we've got the power of healin' love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This silly little sing fills a prompt by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crunad/pseuds/Crunad">Crunad</a>, who requested "Nightmare or healing". What if love has actually healing powers – or at least Geralt believes it does?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Oh. Oh! Yeah, right there. Go ahead, uh... don't stop... a little harder..."</p>
<p>"You're embarrassing," Emhyr muttered, but he actually didn't stop. His hands vigorously kneaded Geralt's back, and the latter's muscles responded to it like butter to sunshine. </p>
<p>"The word you're looking for is enthusiastic," Geralt replied with a groan. "Who knew you were so good at it? You're a natural. Oh, yeah, right there!"</p>
<p>"We have servants for that sort of thing," Emhyr returned. </p>
<p>But he still didn't stop. His fingers squeezed with just the proper hardness to relieve all the tension his spouse had gotten after his training. The same had probably been right by stating that even a horse needed regular exercise and that he needed to resume it. The comparison seemed somehow indecent to Emhyr, but in the end, it was probably apt – a witcher without exercise was useless, and if he had to compare it to anything, it was perhaps to a well-trained soldier, whose skills would rust without regular training. Oh, all these comparisons were useless because in front of him on the bed, completely naked and with tangled hair, lay his husband, and he knew exactly what this sight did to him.</p>
<p>"That's right," smirked the latter now. "But you like it. You like it so much that you..."</p>
<p>He uttered the last words in Nilfgaardian, another thing he had begun to practice again lately. This earned him a hearty slap on the backside. </p>
<p>"Your pronunciation of <em>arse</em> leaves much to be desired."</p>
<p>"Maybe so, but you have healing hands," Geralt growled delightedly underneath him. "You will find..."</p>
<p>He suddenly fell silent. Emhyr, who had noticed that even Geralt's buttocks were tense and had begun to loosen them with a vigorous kneading, asked irritably, "What?"</p>
<p>Deft as a snake, Geralt wriggled around under Emhyr's dexterous hands, accidentally presenting a first success of the latter's efforts. </p>
<p>"You know," he said, unusually serious, "you actually have the ability to make me feel better when you touch me."</p>
<p>Emhyr snorted. If there was one thing Geralt was not, it was romantic; and he had not for a moment supposed that this desire for a <em>post-exercise massage</em> had any meaning other than a new form of foreplay that his witcher loved so passionately. </p>
<p>"It's true," Geralt protested, "healing hands."</p>
<p>"Oh, really?"</p>
<p>Emhyr thought this was nothing more than a strange but somehow cute form of dirty talking, and wordlessly he brushed off his dressing gown. </p>
<p>Geralt's eyes lit up on his reply, "Let me show you what these hands can <em>heal</em>."</p>
<p>-:¦:-</p>
<p>A few days later, their breakfast was graced by Ciri's presence, who was now back in the palace more often and had begun to take a renewed interest in her future duties. Her morning greeting faltered when she noticed Emhyr's left hand resting on one of Geralt's thighs. </p>
<p>"I beseech you, at breakfast? You can't keep pulling the <em>young married couple</em> card all the time."</p>
<p>Geralt merely grinned, but Emhyr, on whose stoic countenance her insolence bounced that morning, calmly brought the teacup to his mouth and took a sip before answering.</p>
<p>"The leg is aching," he simply replied, and Ciri's expression became compassionate. </p>
<p>The effects of multiple fractures and magical healing were more noticeable some days than others, she knew this, and so Ciri asked with interest, "And that helps?"</p>
<p>"Sometimes," Geralt said. Then he grinned again. "I've told your father before that he has healing hands, but he won't hear of it."</p>
<p>Ciri screwed up her face as if he had made a dirty joke, but then she suddenly mused, "You know, there might even be something to it. I once read about how lovers can actually develop healing abilities when they interact with each other."</p>
<p>"That's nonsense," said Triss, who had just entered the room. </p>
<p>"Well, in this case, I guess you can talk about relief as a priority, but what if there's something to it? Love can release endorphins..."</p>
<p>"Healing is due to the body's own substances, which can be triggered with magic, but certainly not by <em>love</em>," Triss said, and thereupon a somewhat heated discussion broke out between the two, which soon encompassed utterly different topics. </p>
<p>-:¦:-</p>
<p>The matter was forgotten for a while as everyday life had a grip on them, but like flashlights, it brought itself back to mind repeatedly. Such as when Emhyr – which, given his idiosyncrasy of often poring over papers in an uncomfortable pose until late at night occurred not so rarely – experienced a headache. Geralt, who had already tried in vain hours ago to lure him away from this work to get some rest, had put his hands on his husband's cramped shoulders, pressed a kiss on the back of his head, and looked over his shoulders.</p>
<p>"That can wait until tomorrow," he said firmly. </p>
<p>And Emhyr, quite contrary to his habits of not being distracted from a task, had actually put down the quill, laid back his head, and let his spouse handle his shoulders. Geralt had to think of the countless times Emhyr's presence, his touch, the mere feeling of his hands in his had given him a sense of relief. </p>
<p>"There is something to it after all," he said thoughtfully.</p>
<p>"Hmm?"</p>
<p>"Healing hands," Geralt replied, "What if that really works? On both sides?"</p>
<p>"Don't be silly. There's nothing <em>healing</em> about it. Your fingers just happen to rest on neuralgic points and cut off the pain supply, that's science, Geralt."</p>
<p>Despite the pretentious tone, Geralt had heard exactly the essential point from these words. He leaned over, nuzzled his cheek against Emhyr's, and whispered, "That means you don't have a headache anymore?"</p>
<p>Emhyr looked at him in surprise but had to silently admit that this was true. And he, too, remembered countless occasions when it had been this way – Geralt had a talent for making a difference with a single touch, and no doubt it was the same the other way around. It was intuitive, something neither of them had ever consciously thought about. The soothing effect of a hand, even fleetingly placed on tense muscles. Fingers intertwined, untangling strained thoughts. A firm stroke over the back after a nightmare. The gentle touch on temples that were taut from endless brooding. As Geralt had said: the ability to make the other person feel better just by touching them. He had to admit that there was indeed something curative about it. </p>
<p>-:¦:-</p>
<p>The implications of these findings, if taken seriously, were remarkable. They both mulled over these considerations without actually talking about it, and almost unconsciously, the mutual touching increased. If the reason they were doing each other well with this was their mutual affection, it only seemed to strengthen it. In other words, Geralt and Emhyr could not keep their hands off each other. As if to regularly reassure themselves that their touches had the desired effect, they touched each other more and more frequently. It was undoubtedly an exciting boost for their love life, which had never suffered from too little attention, but now reached unexpected new heights. It almost seemed as if they wanted to combine true love's kiss with true love's touch, but if they were enchanted, this spell could not be broken. </p>
<p>Although they had rarely hidden their affection, it seemed even more apparent now, and they were seen holding hands in the palace more often than before. It seemed to lift the general mood. As far as Emhyr was concerned, it would have been an exaggeration to say that he displayed certain contentment. But overall, everything seemed as bright and rosy as it should be for newlyweds. </p>
<p>Nevertheless, everyday difficulties had not disappeared, as became apparent one day when Ciri accompanied a limping and cursing Geralt to the infirmary set up by Triss. They had been hunting together – a concession they had both wrested from Emhyr, for Ciri, too, needed a balance to the duties she had, after all, voluntarily accepted. It quickly became clear that this balance could not be found in the ever languishing Movran Voorhis, which had led to some disagreements and the latter's near resignation. After those waters were smoothed, Emhyr had agreed, to the astonishment of both Ciri and Geralt, that she could occasionally accompany him when he took on a contract – nothing too dangerous, nonetheless. </p>
<p>This time, something had gone wrong, and it was only thanks to Ciri's quick intervention that Geralt escaped with a dislocated kneecap and a broken arm, while she herself only suffered a few scrapes. As always, Emhyr had been notified immediately, and he watched the treatment of his court sorceress with a wary eye, holding Geralt's hand. </p>
<p>Ciri, observing that Geralt apparently used the touch to nearly break his spouse's hand between a string of juicy curses, which the latter stoically accepted, said at one point in surprise, "Say, you two, you didn't really take that seriously, did you?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Me, rambling on about the <em>healing power of love</em> the other day. I was just teasing you, but apparently, I started a little something..."</p>
<p>Triss, who had just conjured up a magical ointment for the re-set kneecap with flowing hand movements, looked up at Ciri and replied, "Well, I for one took it seriously."</p>
<p>As all eyes turned to her, the sorceress could not prevent a certain blush from shooting into her cheeks. </p>
<p>"What? It's not so far off, even though I was skeptical at first. So if you were just making it up, Ciri, you were amazingly clairvoyant. Love may release hormones that can relieve pain, among other things – so, for instance, with a touch." </p>
<p>To everyone's surprise, Geralt started laughing, and even Emhyr showed a slight smile.</p>
<p>"It's clear you were messing with us," Geralt said to Ciri. "However, I have to admit; there was something rather stimulating about the idea..."</p>
<p>"Oh please, don't elaborate," Ciri moaned with a disgusted expression. "If I had known that you would become the purest lovebirds after this…"</p>
<p>"I guess you fell into your own trap there, girl," Emhyr opined. "When apparently it can be scientifically proven that there is some truth to your love theory."</p>
<p>"I didn't say anything about it being <em>scientific</em>," Triss interjected. "There are only a few writings by physicians on this."</p>
<p>"Doctors aren't scientific enough for the sorceress, that's it," Geralt sneered but quickly regretted it when she turned to treat his arm. </p>
<p>"We can test out which one you prefer," she replied calmly. "Traditional splinting of the bone as done by barber-surgeons, often with little accuracy, wraps of dubious hygiene and at most weekly dressing changes, as recommended in the now obsolete but still used publication <em>Osseous Therapeuticus</em>. In the meantime, you can try a lot of loving affection; it allegedly promotes the healing process and, in some cases, shortens it. However, some report that the pain is a bit detrimental to libido. Or we might do it my way. That hurts, too, but instead of hoping for a dubious result for about two months, you can move your arm again without any problems in a week. I still recommend holding hands with the other arm, though. "</p>
<p>The others stared at her, speechless, until Geralt, feeling quite powerless at the moment, finally inquired, "You made that book up, didn't you?"</p>
<p>Emhyr, on the other hand, stated, "In this case, I trust entirely in the healing abilities of truly competent hands," which, of course, settled the matter. </p>
<p>-:¦:-</p>
<p>That evening, however, when they were alone, and it was up to him to take care of his spouse, which essentially consisted of making him comfortable, Geralt couldn't help but remark, "And I still think there's something to it." </p>
<p>"Well," Emyhr commented rather dryly, "it's obviously some dubious science, but this thing about releasing hormones..."</p>
<p>"Not that," Geralt interrupted him. "It's only logical; you can find some writings about it at Kaer Morhen, though these days they might not be considered particularly ethical. Still, I think the idea that true love can heal..."</p>
<p>"That wasn't what Ciri was implying," Emhyr interrupted him, frowning. "Hold on. You knew about this hormone thing and all that all along? But you tried to make me believe in the power of love?"</p>
<p>Geralt made a somewhat embarrassed impression. Emhyr raised his brows – which, depending on his mood, could mean anything from mockery to skepticism to blatant rejection. This time, however, it was something else.</p>
<p>"I would consider that a touch of romance; however, I suspect you had some baser instincts."</p>
<p>With one arm in a sling, Geralt's shrug turned out a bit awkward. </p>
<p>"Well, it worked," he returned. "You were <em>very</em> affectionate lately."</p>
<p>"That's the dumbest thing I've heard lately," Emhyr blurted. "You don't think there would have been any other way to achieve this.... aim?"</p>
<p>"Oh yes, certainly," Geralt admitted bluntly. "But it was more fun that way. And healing it was in any case."</p>
<p>"You're such an idiot," Emhyr muttered, shaking his head. "Why do you think it was healing?"</p>
<p>Geralt grinned, and Emhyr instantly regretted his question.</p>
<p>"<em>Sexual healing</em>."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>